


Hogwarts: A Homecoming

by BrandonStrayne, cami_soul, Carriesong, Drarryismymuse (Hatchersn), johnbrown65, Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum, NellSparrow, Nymphadorable, teenage_hustler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Choose Your Own Adventure, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, GIRLS NIGHT!!!, Gillyweed, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Marjoram, Masturbation, Memory Loss, Multi, Other, Pensieve, Potterotica Podcast, So Many Towels, Spanking, Talking portraits, Undapants, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, mandrake - Freeform, prefect's bathroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-03 20:38:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 56,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandonStrayne/pseuds/BrandonStrayne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cami_soul/pseuds/cami_soul, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carriesong/pseuds/Carriesong, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchersn/pseuds/Drarryismymuse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnbrown65/pseuds/johnbrown65, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum/pseuds/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NellSparrow/pseuds/NellSparrow, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymphadorable/pseuds/Nymphadorable, https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenage_hustler/pseuds/teenage_hustler
Summary: It's 2025 and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is having a homecoming celebration.  The moon is full and there's something magical and sexy in the air.A Choose Your Own Potterotica Adventure Story.





	1. The Return to Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> **IMPORTANT!!!** : If you are going to download the story, I don't recommend downloading it through AO3 because the links at the end of the chapters will point to the website rather than the chapters in the file. I have created a modified epub and mobi that corrects this and it can be downloaded from Dropbox:
> 
> [Epub Download](https://www.dropbox.com/s/on1c37ynvh3nqcw/Hogwarts_%20A%20Homecoming%20-%20Potterotics.epub?dl=0)  
> [Mobi Download (for Kindle)](https://www.dropbox.com/s/bm08zqp8ct07ssk/Hogwarts_%20A%20Homecoming%20-%20Potterotics.mobi?dl=0)  
> [Accessible PDF version that has all storylines arranged in sequence so they can be read aloud by an app](https://www.dropbox.com/s/tvgkp5ydaff4zmv/Hogwarts_A%20Homecoming%20-%20Potterotics%20-%20accessible%20version.pdf?dl=0)
> 
>  
> 
> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.
> 
> If you would like to see a map of all the storylines with their word counts and individual chapter attribution, it is available in the [Ravenclaw Common Room](https://www.dropbox.com/s/2crtq646jcssr5b/CYOPA%20Final%20Map.zip?dl=0), but you'll obviously need to answer a riddle to access it ;):  
>   
>  _If you are stressed, these may be found_  
>  _To help turn that feeling right around_  
>  _Cups, cakes, cones, and floats_  
>  _Fruit, mint, nuts, and oats_  
>  _They may come last, but options abound_
> 
>  
> 
> If you have not discovered the hilarity of the Potterotica Podcast, you should [check it out](https://potteroticapodcast.com/)!
> 
> A very special thank you to my wonderful pocketfriend, [Drarryismymuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchersn/pseuds/Drarryismymuse), who helped me beta all these chapters to make sure it all hung together.
> 
> The beautiful wands that are used as section dividers and within the animations at the end of chapters are actual works of art that can be purchased from [Gipson Wands](http://gipsonwands.storenvy.com/). You can even get a custom wand designed!
> 
> The gorgeous time turner illustration was provided by the immensely talented [Sydney Dean](http://sydsketch.tumblr.com/).
> 
> The immensely talented [Noizviolation](https://www.instagram.com/noizviolation) provided illustrative images that really brought the story to life.
> 
> I used [this site](https://photofunia.com/effects/hogwarts_letter) to make a Hogwarts letter which I then edited to suit my purposes.

**Pictured: A letter on scroll with Hogwarts insignia reads:**

****

****

**Esteemed Alumnum,**

**It is my pleasure to invite you to join us for a Hogwarts reunion weekend to be held on the 9th and 10th of August, 2025. Accommodations will be available within the castle for all attendees. Please RSVP no later than the 1st of July.**

**Yours sincerely,**

_**Minerva McGonagall**_

  
  


You arrive in Hogsmeade in the late morning and take a moment to tilt your head back and absorb the sun’s rays. The village’s streets are teeming with people shopping, sipping chilled butterbeers and talking animatedly with friends. You can spot some people in the distance slowly making their way up the hill in the direction of Hogwarts and you turn in that direction as well, excited to see the castle again.

  


After spending a very hot afternoon out on the Quidditch pitch where a pick-up game quickly arose with past students of all generations swooping through the air together, you’re famished and you make your way down to the Great Hall. 

The feast being served is just as you remembered. The house elves have gone above and beyond; the sturdy wooden tables heaving with platters of braised venison, roast pheasant in pools of gravy, chilled bowls of thick, creamy ham and green pea soup that tastes perfect after the blazing sunshine of the afternoon, delicious butterbeer-battered fish with triple-cooked chips, flavoured with the perfect dash of malt vinegar, and sautéed carrots with lemon and marjoram.

Just when you don’t think that you can eat anymore, the main course seems to dissolve into the table to make way for desserts. Tiered stands full of hot, moist croissants, pumpkin pasties, and bubbling cauldron cakes, pen holders filled with glistening sugar quills and boxes upon boxes of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans appear as if from nowhere and they all look so mouth-watering that you can’t imagine not partaking in at least a few of them. As if your stomach has an Undetectable Extension Charm placed on it, you manage to find room for a couple delicious treats and then settle back and listen to the Hall echo with the excitement of people becoming reacquainted with long-lost friends.

A sense of peace and contentment washes over you and you think that the States were definitely onto something when they named these events “homecoming” because this really does feel like you are coming home. You’ve spent so much of your time in this building over the years that it feels so familiar to be here and despite there being hundreds of people here, many of whom you’ve never met, there’s still a sense of shared background and a family of sorts. Although, there definitely seems to be a lot of sexual tension simmering around you, thinking perhaps that family is not the best word to describe it after-all, you think wryly. Everywhere you look there is hair being flipped flirtatiously over shoulders, subtle grazing of arms and hands and backs and charmed laughter followed by fleeting glances. You would be willing to lay down more than a few galleons that there’s going to be some people sneaking around the castle together tonight.

Smiling to yourself, you bid goodnight to your friends and make your way between the tables and out into the Entrance Hall. All that food has made you quite keen on the idea of crawling into bed, but on the other hand a brisk walk may help aid your digestion…

_If you decide that a stroll is in order,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33686484)._

_If you really do want a nice warm bed right now,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 9](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33688593)._


	2. Hot Evenings and GIRLS’ NIGHTS!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

The Entrance hall is abuzz with people milling about. The room echoes with reunions between friends from separate houses getting reacquainted. You watch the commotion, amused as a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin from your year sneak out onto the grounds, clearly looking for a private place to snog. It isn't taking long for the people to start pairing off.

  
The energy of the room makes your earlier thoughts of bed fizzle out of focus. These reunions don't happen often, and the warm night and sexual tension are combining to create a very youthful energy pulsing in your stomach. Tonight is the night for action, not bed.

  
Looking around the Entrance Hall, you spot Fred and George Weasley, Angelina Johnson, Lee Jordan, and Katie Bell heading towards the enormous wooden front doors of the castle. Perfect, who better to reunite with?

  
George spots you and motions you over to join them clapping you on the back as you walk up to them.

  
“Hey Trouble, I didn't know you were going to make it tonight!” He says giving you a hug.

  
“I wasn't sure I would be able to,” you grin back. “Last minute cancellation at the Ministry allowed me some downtime.”  
“Well what are the plans then? We have quite a bit of the gang here and the rest are meeting us at the Three Broomsticks, then we are going back to the reopening of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes in Hogsmeade for a nightcap.” George grins at Fred who winks at you.

  
“A nightcap, eh?” You catch Katie’s eye, who drops her gaze to the floor and blushes a very pretty crimson.

  
“Oh come on,” she says, “the boys are going to end up rushing back to the shop, and it would be lovely to have a little bit of a Girls Night first.”

  
Angelina rolls her eyes and turns to George, “Why you scheduled the reopening for the reunion weekend is beyond me. Don’t you guys want to spend time catching up with everyone?”

  
Fred speaks up, “Angelina, my dear, it's just good business sense.”

  
“We couldn't pass up this kind of foot traffic!” George chimes in. They gleefully start rubbing their hands together and plotting what they’re going to spend their windfall on.

  
Laughing at their enjoyment, you begin saying, “I just have to ….” But before you’re able to finish your thought, you find yourself grabbed up by Hagrid in a gigantic hug.

  
“Oh you are here!” He says happily “c’mon, out to the grounds with ye, I got somethin to show ya... you’ll like this one!”

  
You squint at Hagrid and wonder at what's he got hiding now. Your face must betray your thoughts because Hagrid quickly adds, “It's nothing illegal, mind you. Not like the last time ye were here.”

  
The twins' ears perk up at the word illegal and turning away from their discussion about whether it would be gauche to use their inevitable future riches to hire the Chudley Cannons to feed them grapes and fan them with palm fronds since it’s so hot out, they turn to you and, in unison inquire, "Who's doing something illegal?"

  
Rolling your eyes at the mischievous glint in theirs, you retort, “Don’t even ask.”

  
Fred and George shrug and everybody starts heading out the front doors of the castle and out into the warm summer night. The only question is, will it be a languorous walk to see Hagrid’s new acquisition on the grounds, or is it a Girl's Night at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade that you desire?

_If your curiosity gets the better of you and you_  
_want to know what wild beast Hagrid has acquired,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33686988)._

_If you want to scream “GIRLS NIGHT!”_  
_periodically for the next few hours,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33687912)._


	3. Hex Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

Hagrid has long been known for his strange and sometimes dangerous ideas of what constitutes ‘interesting’. The soft summer breeze blowing through your hair feels refreshing and you start to feel a little bolder. 

“Well, if you’re sure it isn’t illegal, I don’t see the harm in having a look!” You wink at the others. Hagrid smiles down at you and the pair of you head off along the path towards the grounds. You can hear the giggles fading into the distance as you move further from the castle.

The light is starting to fade and the sky above the Forbidden Forest is streaked with orange and pink. You sigh deeply, contented and happy. 

“Feels good ter’ be back, don’ it?” Hagrid asks you.

“Definitely,” you reply. “Everyone is behaving like a teenager again. It’s fun.”

You walk in silence for a few steps before curiosity gets the better of you.

“So what is it that you wanted to show me? It really isn’t illegal, is it?”

Hagrid looks a little uncomfortable. “Not illegal, no, but it isn’t something yer granny’d want ter’ see. Not far now, it’s just behind the quidditch shed. I’ve trapped him under a crate.”

The pair of you walk around the dusty and worn wooden shed and you can see the figures of a couple embracing through the grimy windows. You squint to try and make out any distinguishing features that would give you a clue as to who is in there, but there’s no hope of making out anything through all the accumulated dust on the windowpane.  
Turning your attention away from the amorous couple in the shed, you notice that just outside of the door of the shed there is an upturned crate weighed down by a large can of flesh-eating slug repellent. As Hagrid leans down to lift the can, there is movement inside the crate. A small furry creature begins to rock and bounce excitedly in the shadows. You catch a glint from one of it’s large, glassy eyes. It begins to make strange little noises like a guinea pig and at times you swear you can hear it form words you recognise like ‘amor’, ‘incantatio’ and ‘fornicatio’.

“Shut up yer little furball,” Hagrid growls as he opens up a makeshift door in the crate. You look into the crate to get a closer look. The creature is more excited now and is still jabbering away. You can make out more of its features including the matted, grubby fur, that was once white covering its small round body and large floppy ears. The small firm feet and beak which look to be made from...plastic! You gasp! This isn’t an animal it’s an old muggle toy!

You ask Hagrid where he found it.

“‘Not far from here. ‘E was scurryin’ ‘round the edge o’ the forest. Some strange things had been happening up at the castle. The professors asked me to have a look.”

“What kind of things?” you ask. 

Hagrid looks a little embarrassed, “Well, y’see, some months ago a lot of the seventh year Hufflepuff students were caught out of bed. Well not out of bed, but not in their own beds. If yer catch my meaning?” 

He picks up the little creature and you both move towards a nearby tree. It is still very excitable and jiggles in Hagrid’s large hand, but doesn’t make a move to escape. Hagrid goes on to explain that all the students caught out of bed seemed to have been under a spell or hex. They suddenly became much more confident and charming...and really quite horny. They suddenly had the confidence to ask out that special someone they had been mooning over for months. The lustiness started spreading like a virus. The teachers eventually found the cause, which turned out to be this small muggle toy which had been thrown into a cupboard in the charms classroom in 2007.

Since then it had been listening to all the spells the students repeated day in, day out and it had been absorbing the magic of the castle. Eventually a unique combination of the voice recognition software and the profusion of magic in the air caused the toy to evolve and become sentient, of a sort. It was found by a young shy Hufflepuff named Jason who had been desperately in love with a Gryffindor boy called Gabriel. After listening to endless heartbroken sighs and truly terrible poems with questionable rhymes for ‘Gabriel’, the creature decided, in an ironic twist, to act to make the annoying, lovesick teenager shut up. It seems the creature liked the effect it was having on Gabriel and ‘what’s his face’ so much that it started matchmaking all over the school.

As Hagrid comes to the end of his story you become aware that the noises from the quidditch store shed are getting louder and more intense. The small window is steaming up and the rhythmic banging is getting more insistent. Hagrid clears his throat and looks uncomfortable as the furry lump of magical plastic in his hands starts singing and whistling in encouragement.

“Little Killer ‘ere had been well behaved until this weekend. He’s not used to having this many people, adults especially, around the place. I best take him home.”

Trying not to laugh, you say goodnight to Hagrid and his Furby named Killer.

Shaking your head, you look around the grounds and start thinking back to your own time at Hogwarts and some particularly memorable moments on the shore of the Black Lake. You decide to go down to the lake for old times’ sake before heading back to the castle. You start down the track that will lead you there when you hear someone moving in the trees by the edge of the forest. You turn to look. It is getting darker now and you can’t quite make out who it is at this distance, but you can tell that whoever it is, looks familiar and is wearing very little clothing.

Do you follow them into the Forbidden Forest?

_If you’re brave enough (or foolhardy and curious enough)_  
_to risk entering the Forbidden Forest, Apparate to[Chapter 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33687222)._

_To carry on to the Black Lake, Apparate to[Chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33687717)._


	4. Mushrooms and Marjoram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

Intrigued and encouraged by the warm night — and eager to escape the vicinity of the very loud shouts and splooshing sounds coming from the shack — you follow the shadow-wrapped figure down to the Forbidden Forest.  

Flicking your long blonde braid over your shoulder, you breach the treeline and enter the Forest, when suddenly you are ensconced in a cloud of flickering lights...which seem to be pulling at your short sundress.

“Why hello there. What has the fairy folk so excited tonight?” you ask the energetic fairies twittering around you, but predictably no response is received.

Walking on into the dark shadows of the moonlit forest, the flitting shapes are dodging around you, pulling at your sundress and loosening your braid so that your hair tumbles down around your shoulders. Breaking through the thick trees into a clearing, you are suddenly obscured by a cool, pale green mist, and lowering your eyes to the forest floor, you spot a very large circle of mushrooms in the centre of the clearing. Fortunately, your foot has not yet crossed the boundary of the fairy circle and you breathe a sigh of relief as you realize the implications of what is happening. Searching the forest floor, you nod contentedly when you spot the object of your quest. You hurry over to pluck handfuls of the wild thyme and marjoram plants growing on the edge of the clearing. You’re willing to visit with the fairies for a time, but these will be necessary to ensure your safe return from the fairy circle.  Fairy circles can be dangerous, lowering inhibitions which makes returning from the land of fairy difficult. These wild herbs will act to confuse the fairies while centering yourself, and should allow you to escape the ring’s influence at the end of the evening.

The large dark shadow you followed joins you from the treeline and it also has the flitting bright shapes surrounding it. As he approaches you, you can’t help but take in his heavily muscled arms and torso and your fingers itch to run them through the silky hair that covers his body.

“The fae are happy tonight,” dragging your eyes away from his mouth-watering physique, you direct them at the centre of the fairy circle where you can see what looks like hundreds of the fairy folk wending through the air, weaving around each other in an aerial dance.

“The alignment of Venus and the moon tonight are causing a stir,” answers the deep Centaur’s voice.

“The fairies like it in the forest; the grounds are too manicured, they like the seeds of the flowers to be spread here in the circles. It is important to them. The fae have always been nice to me and have blessed me with lovely moments; I believe that you are to be my next.”

“My people have read the messages encoded between the stars and they indicate that this is a good day for an offering; the skies are illuminated by the two brightest objects, chasing away the darkness that conceals anger and strife. Venus’ retrograde movements encourage a diversion from the normal and will no doubt cause the beings of Earth to take more risks than usual, most particularly in matters of the heart.”

Fairies are flitting around you both quite quickly now—their excitement evident—and many start to land on you, pulling at your clothes and Firenze’s hair, encouraging you towards the fairy circle, their wings catching the moonlight and glittering while mists are rising and blocking the moon, creating a beautiful glow around the two of you.

“They would like for us to couple, I believe.” Turning your head, you look up and up, tilting your head to look at Firenze, Venus and the Moon shining brightly over his shoulder.

“Are you sure you consent to this, Little One?  Amorous activities among my people are considered sacred and nothing to be ashamed of, but your people think differently about such things. If anyone were to spy us _in flagrante delicto_ the repercussions for yourself may be considerable.”

“Human sexual secretions aid in their egg formation. The larvae become much more powerful and it allows them to deter more predators. I have the required thyme and marjoram to leave the place once we are done,” you hold up your fistfuls of fresh herbs and the peppery scents penetrate the air.

“Besides, it's not like it would be a huge hardship,” you smile, eyeing his muscled arms and torso.

Firenze pulls you to him and snogs you thoroughly before lifting you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his torso as he crosses the line of mushrooms and enters the circle.

Your pale hair has been completely pulled from its braid now and appears to glow under the moon’s bright light as the fairies continue to pull at you both. Putting your arms around the centaur’s neck to pull him closer to you, you kiss passionately, your hands roam over his body as far as they can reach.

“Now,” you whisper.

Firenze helps you to remove your sundress while still held aloft in his powerful arms, the warm breeze on your bare skin causing an anticipatory shiver, leaving you clad in just your thin, periwinkle blue underwear.

Firenze grabs you by the waist, hefting you up to a high branch which hangs into the centre of the ring, and spreads your legs while you look down at him thoughtfully.

“Is it true that Centaur fur is full of chizpurfles?” you inquire, massaging his shoulders.

“It is true that they are attracted to our magical auras, but we have potions that we brew to rid ourselves of their infestation.  I am not burdened with them, Little One” Firenze takes a step back from you as he answers, giving you the opportunity to put an end to your encounter.

“Thank you for your honesty, but I’m not changing my mind.” Reaching out, you grab his shoulders and pull him back towards you. “I must warn you though, at this phase of the moon, a woman’s desire is at its peak, and being inside the fairy circle will likely amplify that, so I am going to need all of your attention. A woman's fluids are important in aiding the fairy’s egg development.” You tilt your head, smiling at Firenze, a glint of a challenge in your eyes.

Firenze moans “Yes” before pulling your lacy, blue undapants to one side and gently licking your cleft. His arms encircle your waist and keep you steady and safe on the branch as the sensations cause you to squirm.

The tiny lights of the fairies’ wings dance around you and you hear many faint buzzes of encouragement as you gasp with pleasure. The fairies are flickering more quickly now and the ethereal green mist is getting so thick that you can’t make out the treeline anymore,  and you realize with a start that they are taking you with them to the land of fairy. 

Realizing that you have no time to lose, you release the herbs from your clenched hands, freeing them to grasp at Firenze’s muscled shoulders to keep your balance as he inserts a finger into your vagina and curls it just so, stroking your inner walls in a way that makes you gasp and sigh.

The herbs fly through the air and land around you, obscuring the toadstools on this sliver of the fairy circle. Disoriented by the rich smells of the wild spices and unable to locate the toadstools which serve as their link to this world, the fairies and mist slowly begin to disperse.

Frenzied moans are coming from you as Firenze quickens his pace, plunging his thick fingers in and out of your body and sucking your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the pulsing nerves. Firenze’s ministrations, added to the lustrous scents of the night, are too much for you and you climax, your body shaking on the branch, your juices released and trickling down Firenze’s chest and dripping down between his hooves, quenching the ground of the fairy circle..

As your moans fade out, you notice that the mist has almost entirely dissipated and you begin to recover your breath. The events of the night have taken much out of you.

Your body is still shaking slightly as Firenze holds you tightly, his arms circled around your back, and gently lowers you to the ground just inside the circle.

“Are you alright, Little One?” Firenze blinks, his hair and flank now peppered with flecks of marjoram and thyme.

“Yes,” you tilt your head as if considering the question and then continue in your sing-songy voice, “that was a very satisfactory orgasm. I hope the fairies appreciate the offering.”

You emerge from the circle, dressed once again in your barely-there sundress, the bowtruckle barrettes put back in your hair to flicker in the moonlight.

Firenze emerges from the last of the mist as well, putting a hand on the small of your back, “This is where I leave you. Thank you for the gift of your body this eve, but take heed; the moon lies in the 3rd house this eve and will demand a tithe.”

You beam up at him, “That was lovely Firenze. Thank you.”

Firenze smiles at you, placing a tender kiss on your forehead before turning to trot up to the castle.

“The full moon is wonderful for stimulating a woman’s fluids, isn’t it?” you say to the flitting shapes and turn to walk— almost floating — back towards the castle. You must remember to leave some treats for them at a later date.

_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_


	5. Leaf Your Worries Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

The choice between chasing some mystery figure into the forbidden forest, and heading to your old stomping grounds down near the lake is an easy one; this is a homecoming after all. Once more you look into the treeline where the figure disappeared, and you turn on your heel, heading down to the Black Lake. 

  
  


An easygoing smile tugs at the right corner of your mouth as you lean against the trunk of a great oak that looks out over the Black Lake, shaded from curious glances by the shadow cast from the canopy above. As peals of laughter burst from the group of onlookers standing at the lake's edge reach your ears, you find yourself wondering just how much firewhisky Flitwick had to have imbibed in before he was convinced to hop onto the giant squid and do his best impression of an American cowboy atop a bull?

  
  


**Pictured: Professor Flitwick has a look of glee on his face as he rides the giant squid, who is skimming along the surface of the Black Lake with mountains in the background**

Chuckling to yourself, you slide your hands into the pockets of your jeans, and push off the old oak with the toe of your boot. You didn't head all the way down here to join in the drunken revelry, as tempting as that may be. No, you came here for her. For Mandy.

  
  


Hastily, you head around the side of the lake, glancing back over your shoulder and watching the rodeo fall further behind you with each step. After about fifteen minutes you come upon a familiar boulder and turn, heading deeper into the wood, your heart pounding in anticipation. After just a few short moments you stumble into a clearing, and a rakish smile breaks across your lips as you spot the patch of clover that's become so familiar to you over the years; the lush green foliage of a mandrake sprouting from the center of the circle. You feel a sudden tightening in your pants and thrill and embarrassment are waging war in the pit of your stomach. A quarter of a century later, and she still gets your cock as impossibly hard as in your schoolboy days.

“Get a hold of yourself, Neville,” you quietly murmur to yourself. “She’s waiting for you.”

You make quick work of removing your boots and socks, none of the childhood clumsiness you'd once endured remains to slow you down. Taking a deep breath, you mentally shake yourself, and you make your way over to the soft and fragrant patch of ground cover.

As you reach the center of the circle, you pull out your wand and cast a quick spell. Before your eyes the clover and soil part, revealing stairs leading to an enormous terracotta pot with what is clearly a large door formed into the side. You peek over your shoulder, more out of habit than necessity.  You know you'd never live it down if someone like Malfoy was to find out that you were in love with a fully grown mandrake. Once you’re sure that you haven't been followed, you descend the stairs, nimbly unbuttoning your shirt as you go. As you reach the bottom of the stairs and raise your hand to knock, the earthen door opens, and your breath hitches in your throat.

She simply stands there and yet her beauty is even more stunning than your memories had been able to conjure. Her frame is petite, and yet shapely; willowy calves flaring up into full hips which flow into a narrow waist.  Your eyes continue their slow perusal up an ample set of breasts which are a glorious russet colour. Her silken mane of emerald foliage cascades down her back and shoulders, covering her nipples and tempting you to reach out and dig for them. You resist the urge, ignoring the ache of your cock pressed firmly against the front of your pants, and open your arms to her. She vaults into them, throwing her arms around your neck, and pressing her body firmly against yours; the soft sound escaping her throat leaving you more lightheaded than the firewhisky flowing in the Great Hall this evening ever could. She kisses you with unrestrained ardour; her delicate, twig-like fingers curling into the hair at the nape of your neck. You lean down, hooking your arms under her thighs and buttocks, lifting her and carrying her up the stairs, her legs twining around your hips. As you reach the top of the stairs, you pad over to the edge of the clover and set her down tenderly; laying over her, your body covering hers while you prop yourself up on your elbows.

You gaze down into her eyes, hungrily attempting to memorize each stunning line of her face and smiling at the small purple blooms peeking through the foliage that's fanned out beneath her that look reminiscent of a halo.  Your Earthbound angel.

Her luminous hazel eyes drink in the muscular lines of your body, and she bites into her lower lip as you hungrily clench your square jaw, trying to find your restraint. Mandy smiles up at you, her full pout beckoning you as she tenderly rubs her thumb against your temple, down the side of your face, and back up again.

Gently you begin to feel the familiar taps beginning on one of your broad shoulders. Morse code, the little known muggle language you spent countless hours painstakingly learning in the Hogwarts library, and then teaching to her in turn. A secret language all your own.

“Neville, my love. I've missed you,” she tells you, without saying a word.

You chuckle, and smile down at her, suddenly feeling sixteen all over again. “I've missed you too,” you whisper huskily. You brush one of the emerald strands from her face, and she leans up, capturing you in a gentle kiss. Her legs tangle around you, and she shifts beneath you, reminding you of how badly your body longs to be one with hers. You deepen the kiss, and quickly your bodies begin to respond, bumping and grinding into one another. It's more than you can take, and so your sweet descent begins.

  
  


**Pictured: Neville stands in grey pants and no shirt, with one hand held up to the back of his head. In front of him and to the side stands a naked mandrake woman, Mandy, who has rough, bark-like textured skin and leafy green hair. The two stand in a forest.**

You start trailing kisses down Mandy’s body, first nuzzling her neck before uncovering her nipples and suckling on each small bud until she's writhing beneath you, tapping desperate pleas against your shoulder. Continuing your journey down her delectable body, her hips buck up to meet your mouth as you part her legs and begin to flick your tongue against her clit.  A gentle sound, not unlike a groan escapes her, and once more you're hit with a buzzed dizzying sensation. You trap the tiny bunch of nerves at the apex of her sex between your lips and suck, moaning at the slightly sweet taste of her sap. Her hips grind against you, and she pushes your head more firmly against her as you slide two fingers inside of her. Crooking them in a come-hither motion, she quivers beneath you, her sap now flowing more freely into your mouth.

You continue this decadent torture until she grips her thighs around your shoulders and head, and desperately taps out to you, “Please darling, I need you!”

You glance up at her, and the raw need etched across her face pushes you over the edge. Quickly you sit up, shrugging out of your shirt. Your strangled cry of frustration as you struggle to unfasten your braided belt earns you a stifled laugh from her, and you glance up to meet her eyes; mischievously you begin to refasten your belt. A look of panic flits across her delicate features, and she shakes her head quickly. You grin cheekily in response, before removing your belt completely. You gaze upon her, while you lazily unfasten your jeans; a blush creeping across your cheeks as you watch her response to you. Biting so hard into her lip that you’re concerned the tender flesh will break, her eyes are devouring your body; lingering over the taut muscles of your shoulders and arms, across your sculpted pecs, and sliding down your washboard abs before coming to rest on the distinct V of muscles that seems to point straight down to the bulge pressing against your jeans. You peel them off, revealing solid calves, thighs, and a hard cock long and thick enough to make even a porn star blush. Not your Mandy, though. She reaches down between your legs and begins to stroke you, the movement catching you by surprise, and you have to mentally shake yourself as a hungry groan breaks free of your lips.

“Fuck, babe!” you gasp. Her intoxicating laugh wraps itself around you once more in response, leaving you light-headed, and you lean down to hungrily capture her lips against yours.

She slides her tongue in and out of your mouth, mirroring the movements you’re both longing for, and taps out a frantic response, “Yes Neville, fuck me!”

You don't need any more prompting, and you guide yourself into her, careful to go gently the first few strokes so as not to hurt her. She writhes beneath you, and you sit up in response, pulling her legs over your shoulders. Your pace quickens in this new position, your arms wrapped tightly around her legs, as the position of her hips allows her to take all of you. The heady sound of her gasps, the sight of her playing with her nipples as she watches you, and the velvety tightness of her pussy are too much to bear, and you struggle against the tightening sensation in your groin.

Her eyes look up into yours, and she taps lightly against your thigh. “Come in me, Nev,” she pleads,  licking her lips, and nodding as she does so.  Her perfect breasts bounce with each thrust, and she twists her hips against yours as you pound into her. It all becomes too much.

You cry out as stars burst across your vision, fiery pleasure arching through you as you spill inside of her, and drop her legs; laying down on top of her, thrusting lazily, and kissing her greedily as she grips your tight ass. Your forehead rests against hers, and you plant a soft kiss on her lips, before kissing your way back down her body.  Mandy gasps as you run your tongue along her pussy, lapping up the mixture of her sap and your semen, before moving your lips back to her clit, and returning to your earlier coaxing.  A ragged groan escapes your throat, as you taste the evidence of your two bodies becoming one.

Sliding a finger back inside of her pussy you rub against a soft, pillowy part of her pussy, and she begins to writhe against your coaxing. You use your free arm to gently press her hips down in place, as you continue your loving assault. Between the dizzying effect of her voice and the heady lust it fills you with, the quiet moans that escape her as her body spasms beneath your coaxing nearly drive you into madness. When she finally stills you slide your tongue into her, drinking in her sweet sap, earning you one last thrust of her hips.

Softly and with great care, you kiss your way back up her body, and come to rest above her. She caresses you, and wraps her arms around you, pressing gently against your right side until you roll over, so she comes to rest on top of you. She leans down and begins kissing your shoulder, peppering kisses up along your neck. Finally, and unexpectedly, she takes your earlobe into her mouth, and she begins to suck. You feel your cock twitch in response, as well as the smile this sparks in her. 

She bites down gently, and tugs against the tender lobe, as she slides your reinvigorated cock back into her wet pussy and taps on your chest, “Again.” Lust courses through your body, heady and unstoppable, and you harden inside of her. Sitting up, she smiles down at you as she begins to ride you nice and slow. You drink in the sight of her, as moonlight spills over her, and you can't contain the grin that breaks over your face. Your very own woodland goddess.

  
  


Hours later the two of you lay sprawled out on the soft clover, your arms wrapped securely around her and your bodies a tangle of limbs. She gently strokes your chest, and you look down at her in all her radiant glory.

Ardour and pride fill your chest, and softly you tap against her waist, “I love you to the moon.”

Her face tilts, and she grins up at you as she gently taps her reply, “Past the stars.”

Together, tapping in synchronization, you both complete the familiar oath, “And all the way back home.”

And here in Mandy’s arms, you are.

  


_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_  



	6. GIRLS’ NIGHT...with guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

“So tell me,” you say, catching up with Fred and George. “How exactly did you two and Lee end up being invited to a girls’ night?”

“GIRLS’ NIGHT!!” squawks Katie from behind, making you jump.

“What the…?”

“It’s tradition,” George explains. “Whenever somebody says the phrase ‘girls’ night’--”

“GIRLS’ NIGHT!!” comes another loud screech, this time from Angelina.

“—somebody else has to say it back, only louder, and more like they want to sound like an angry magpie. And as for how we managed to get invited, despite our inescapable and intoxicating manliness—”

Your snort of derision interrupts him. “I don’t know about ‘inescapable’, but I can believe ‘intoxicating’, in that people tend to end up exposed to toxic substances whenever they’re around you.”

“If by ‘toxic substances’, you mean what comes out of George’s rear end after one too many burritos, that’s fair,” Fred acquiesces. “But the point is, we were allowed to come to this girls’ night—”

“GIRLS’ NIGHT!!”

“Cheers, Lee. We were allowed to come along after we let our lady friends give us wax jobs and mani-pedis.”

You raise a disbelieving eyebrow. “You’re kidding. No way you blokes are woman enough to handle waxing.”

“Oh no?” Fred stops in his tracks and rolls up his jeans. True to his word, you are greeted with the silky smooth calf of Fred’s long, long leg.

“I stand corrected,” you say. “I’m impressed. Did it hurt?”

“Like the dickens!” Fred answers cheerfully. “I think Katie and Angelina expected me to beg them to stop after the first strip. It’s sad, really. They’ve known me for decades, and yet they still fail to understand how much pain I will endure for its ultimate comedic value.”

You snort once again as he tugs his jean leg back down. “Well, for what it’s worth, the hairless leg suits you. As does the nail varnish.”

Fred grins, holding up his red and gold glitter painted nails in front of him. “Thanks. I went for my house colours.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.”

Fred’s grin intensifies, and he takes a step closer to you. “You might want to ease up on the sarcastic remarks, love,” he says, voice dropping to a volume that could most accurately be described as a purr. “Or else I might start thinking that you’re flirting with me.”

“Never,” you answer, but as he steps away and carries on toward the village, you can’t help but shiver a little in the warm August twilight.

  
  


The Three Broomsticks is well-stocked with patrons, but not so crowded that there are no tables and chairs going spare. It is the perfect atmosphere, in your humble opinion.

“Katie! Angelina! Over here!”

You turn with the others to find a group of ten or so girls you remember first and foremost from your Hogwarts days.

At the time, if somebody had asked you whether or not you could be friends with some of the ladies sitting there now, you probably would have laughed in their faces. You suppose this is proof that time really does make fools of us all. And you were nothing if not a fool.

So you smile happily, taking a seat beside Lavender Brown, who has crossed her arms over her ample bosom and is looking, irritated, at Fred, George, and Lee.

“Why, may I ask, are these three men here? Isn’t this supposed to be a girls’ night?”

“GIRLS’ NIGHT!” cries everybody else, including you, before looking expectantly over at the three boys.

“Oh, they are honorary girls tonight,” Angelina assures Lavender as she slides into the seat opposite you. “They went through a woman’s most painful rite of passage to be here.”

“You made them give birth?”

“Okay, second most painful. Show us your legs, boys!”

All the ladies provide loud wolf-whistles of encouragement as Fred, George, and Lee roll up their trousers. Their hollers quiet down as they witness the completely hairless shins within.

“That’s brave,” Romilda Vane comments, raising her Butterbeer glass in solute. “I’ve never had the guts to wax my legs.”

“Oh, it wasn’t just their legs we waxed,” Katie says, placing a hand on Lee’s shoulder. “We went for a full lower half with these three.”

While some of the girls instantly understand what Katie means, some take a second or two longer. As each lady catches on she lets out a surprised gasp, culminating in an in-the-round echo of audible surprise.

After a further second or two of silence, Lavender stands up and downs the rest of her drink.

“Never mind just being allowed to be here,” she says. “After going through that, lads, your first round is on me!”

  
  


“Mate,” George says to you a couple of hours and more than a couple of drinks later, as you both wait to be served at the bar, “If I’d known how much fun girls’ night—”

“GIRLS’ NIGHT!!”

“—s were, I’d have let Angelina give me a sack and crack years ago.”

You vaguely recall that a more sober version of you would have rolled your eyes at his crudeness. In your current state, however, you giggle in amusement.

“So,” George continues, turning to face you properly. “I saw you getting a bit touchy-feely with some of the ladies earlier. Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“What?” you say, although you know exactly what he is talking about.

One Butterbeer in and you were resting your hand on Romilda Vane’s shoulder for a little too long while you were looking at photos from her most recent holiday. Two Butterbeers in and you were wondering if Lavender would mind awfully if you rested your head on her shoulder. One Firewhiskey later and Katie was giggling at the tickly sensation of your fingers running through her long, red hair. One more Firewhiskey and you were resting your head on Lavender’s shoulder, the better to appreciate how her incredible rack looked in that low-cut top she had on.

None of your friends mind your affectionate nuzzles or lingering touches. Indeed, some of them are acting similarly. And you would certainly never do anything they were uncomfortable with, even at your drunkest. But, oh, what you would not give to have one of those women willingly follow you to a secluded bedroom or hallway for an hour or so. You have thought, more often than is perhaps healthy, about what it would be like to undress another woman. To run your fingers over their gentle curves and soft stomachs. To breathe in their floral perfume as it mingles with their pheromones. To hear their gentle sighs and high-pitched gasps as you bring them pleasure unlike anything a man could give.

Not that you don’t like men. Because you do like men. You like their big hands and their hard lines and their square jaws. You like how their faces always feel a little bit rough. You like how they smell like sandalwood and the sea. You like how they feel inside you, and the low, rumbling noises they make when you kiss them. You like men a lot. You love them, in fact.

But you love women too. And you wish you were ready for the world to know that.

“There’s nothing to tell,” you say to George. “That’s all just part of the girls’ night.”

“GIRLS’ NIGHT!!”

You know that voice, and it is not one that you expect to hear. Turning around, you see the familiar faces of half a dozen of your friends, former classmates and coworkers as they enter the pub. Normally you would be thrilled to see them.

The only problem? They are all men, and a quick glance at their hands reveals a distinct lack of nail varnish. You are quite sure that they are not supposed to be here.

“Ronald Weasley!” The high, clear voice of Lavender Brown permeates both your ears and those of the youngest Weasley male, who stands at the front of this group of newcomers.

To Ron’s credit, he stands his ground. Placing his hands on his hips, he gives his ex-girlfriend a cheeky grin that has only become more attractive with age. “All right, Lav?”

“I was, until you and your merry band of penises walked in!” Lavender responds, her tone and choice of words less embarrassing to her than they probably would be, were she sober. “You are not supposed to be here!”

“Aww!” Ron protests. “But Fred, George, and Lee are here!”

“They waxed their nutsacks for the privilege!” Lavender screeches.

“They WHAT?”

“We did what we had to do, little bro,” Fred says, coming over and wrapping an arm around Ron’s shoulders. “Because we understand that girls night—”

“GIRLS NIGHT!!”

“—is sacred. So unless you have the balls to undress your balls—”

“No bloody way!”

“—you cannot join in.”

Ron remains silent for a moment as he looks around the room, taking in the many sets of eyes now watching him. His gaze finally locks onto you, and his grin comes back in full.

“Hey,” he says. “I didn’t know you were here. What do you think? Can we stay?”

“Er…” you utter, as you become uncomfortably aware of all the eyes shifting towards you. Why are you always having to make these decisions?

_If you think that GIRLS’ NIGHT can only be improved by_  
_Ron’s (and other handsome Hogwarts lads’) presence, Apparate to[Chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33688242)._

_If you think that GIRLS’ NIGHT should only to be attended by girls_  
_and/or boys brave enough to wax their junk, portkey to[Chapter 8](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33688476)._


	7. Sausage Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

You roll your eyes. “Merlin, I can’t spend a single night without my boys, huh?”

“Aah. Knew you wouldn’t leave us hanging, Hermione,” Ron says, as he takes your glass and finishes the rest of the golden liquid within. Lavender shoots you a glare, then grabs Romilda’s hand and makes off towards the ladies’ bathroom.

“You are unbelievable, Ronald Weasley,” you mumble, frowning at the now empty glass, but unable to stop a smile forming on your lips. Ron smiles back at you and plants a dry kiss on top of your head, before he makes his way towards the bar to get more drinks — and possibly flirt with his old crush, Rosmerta.

You’re glad that you and Ron had quickly realized you weren’t working as a couple — you wouldn’t want to give up this friendship for the world, especially not for a mismatched relationship that was doomed to fail.

“I guess I’d better go help him with the drinks then!” Harry says obliviously, strolling off towards the bar as well.

“Well, if this isn’t going to be a GIRLS’ NIGHT, I might as well help you with the preparations, George,” Angelina sighs.

“What an excellent idea, love!” George says. “You know what Fred, take your time and finish your drink. Now that I have help from this excellent witch, there’s no reason to rush.”

With that, George swoops up a protesting Angelina, and carries her out of the bar, accompanied by giggles and half-hearted protests.

“Ah, young love. A blessing to behold,” Fred says with a smirk, taking a sip of Firewhiskey.

“Not so young anymore. Are your parents taking care of their kids this weekend?”

“Yep. You’d think they would’ve had enough of childcare to last them until the end of their days, but alas, they adore the little brats. It’s quite unfair, really. Mum gives them way less grief than she used to give us!”

“Maybe that’s because they don’t insist on setting the house on fire quite as often as you did,” you say with a smile.

“Well, us Weasleys do tend to have a fiery temper, as I’m sure you know,” he smiles back at you before finishing his drink.

“Are you going back to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes to help them with the preparations for the reopening?”

Fred laughs a deep, hearty laugh. “Oh Hermione. So smart, and yet so naive. Do you really think we haven’t prepared everything already? Do you really think George and Angelina, the couple that finally has an evening without kids, have left us to set up some decorations?”

You feel your cheeks heat up in what you can only imagine to be a deep blush. Turning away, you gesture across the room at Rosmerta for another drink. “Guess not,” you finally say.

Fred has stopped chuckling and regards you with a mischievous smile. “I’ll also have another, Rosmerta!” he tells the curvy barmaid, who has arrived at your table with a glass of butterbeer, and who doesn’t seem to have aged a day since Ron first had a crush on her.

“Course, sweetheart!” she says as she sets down your drink. She flicks her wand, and a tumbler of firewhiskey levitates towards your table. “Holler if you need anything else, dear.”

She is talking to both of you, but only looks at Fred while she speaks and gives him a wink before she walks back towards the bar, where Ron and Harry are still standing. Katie and Lee have joined them, and they’re in deep conversation — Quidditch probably.

Fred winks back at her, then gives his glass a swirl and takes a sip. You wonder if you have never noticed Rosmerta flirting with her male customers, or if it is only Fred she has taken an interest in. You regard Fred thoughtfully. He really is quite handsome....and funny....and smart.....

Heat is rising in your cheeks yet again, and you remember the embarrassing crush you used to have on him. The tension that you had thought was there, but that neither of you was ever brave enough to act on.....

You quickly take a big gulp of butterbeer before you let your mind wander too long, nearly choking as you do so.

“Careful, Hermione. Wouldn’t want you to choke, would we? At least not on that. That’s not a very dignified way to go.” Fred says, slapping you on the back as you cough. When your breathing has calmed down, his hand lingers on your back for a moment.

“Phew, where is Angelina?” Katie says as she lets herself fall down on the chair next to you, slamming her half-empty glass of butterbeer on the table. Fred removes his hand from your back, leaving you with a tingling sensation where it used to be.

“Angelina and George went to set up Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes for when everyone is coming over for the second round.”

“So much for our GIRLS’ NIGHT!!! It’s turning out to be a real sausage party in here,” Katie huffs. “Oh well, at least Loony’s still here. Though she’s been talking to that goblin over there for like, half an hour.” She rolls her eyes. “And what about you Fred? Why aren’t you helping Angelina and George?”

“Oh, I’m confident the two of them have everything under control,” Fred says, stretching out his long, sexy legs. “Anyway, I could do with a little midnight stroll through Hogsmeade. Anyone keen to join?”

“I am,” you say. Maybe a little fresh air will calm your nerves.

“Me too!” Katie says.

“Well then, empty your drinks and let’s go!” Fred says.

You move to do so, but before you can, your glass topples over, spilling the drink all over Katie. She screeches, and you apologize profusely, even though you could have sworn you didn’t even touch your glass. Katie’s shirt is completely soaked in cold liquid, and you can’t help but stare a little as you realize she is obviously not wearing a bra. Your breath hitches as her nipples begin to harden and press through her shirt, begging for equal attention from your fingers and tongue. You shake your head and quickly cast _Scourgify_ over Katie, the table, and yourself, leaving you all clean and dry – cleaner than before in the case of the table. And maybe not completely dry in your case.

Just then you think you see Fred hiding a small vial in his sleeve, but as you get a better look at him, he smiles at you innocently.

“I guess it’s just you and me for bottoms up, Fred!” Katie says as she chugs her drink back.

“I guess so,” Fred says with a grin that makes you a little suspicious, and he too empties his glass. “Let’s go!”

You stand up and Fred gets your coats. “Just add the girls’ drinks to my tab, Rosmerta. I’ll come by tomorrow to pay!” Fred calls to the barmaid who looks very busy behind the bar, but nevertheless looks up to throw him a smile. “Looking forward to it!”

Just as you leave the bar, you turn to look at Katie.

“Merlin’s beard, Katie! Your face!”

Katie’s hands shoot up to her face, where huge, angry red spots are sprouting at a very concerning rate.

“Oh my God!” she screams, then turns around and dashes back into the bar, towards the bathroom.

You turn angrily back to Fred.

“That was you! I saw you with that vial!”

He throws up his hands. “Guilty as charged. But only because she called Luna ‘Loony’ again. What is this, sixth year? Also, I thought a little tête-à-tête between the both of us might do us some good.”

“She calls Luna ‘Loony’ once, and you poison her‽”

“Oh calm down, Hermione. She’s my friend too. It’s one of our products; she’ll be back to normal in five minutes. Better actually. The potion’s second stage removes all skin irritations, not just the ones the first stage caused. Now come on, let’s take a walk.”

He looks at you expectantly. You hesitate. Do you want to take a walk with Fred, or go after Katie to make sure she’s okay?

_If you decide Katie will be fine and go with Fred,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 24](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33736662)._

_If you decide to check on Katie,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 25.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33736797)_


	8. Wax On, Get Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

You look around, and your eyes meet Lavender’s steely gaze. You know exactly how she feels. If Ron wanted to dance with you, he should have taken his chance at the Yule Ball.

Turning back to the youngest Weasley brother you square your shoulders, puffing up your chest, and raising your chin defiantly.

“Sorry hon,” you tsk him. “Everyone here knows the golden rule; ovaries before brovaries,” you deliver the bad news with an impish grin.

You giggle madly as the group of girls break out in cheers, and George and Fred surround you, easily lifting you up onto their broad shoulders as though you'd just caught the Golden Snitch. A very brief rush of guilt wraps itself around your stomach as Ron pouts and leaves with his friends, but it is quickly replaced with delight when the twins set you down and Lavender rushes you, throwing her arms around you and shrieking in delight,  “GIRLS NIGHT!”

The bar echoes with the resounding reply, “GIIIIIIIIIIRLS NIGHT!” And you find yourself happier than you've been in a very long time.

  
  


Twenty minutes and two muggle karaoke songs later you find yourself posted at the bar with Pansy, Lavender, Romilda, Hannah, and Katie, all waiting on your second round of slippery slits... or maybe it was buttery nipples?... you flush at the imagery, and because you're distracted, nearly jump out of your skin as Lavender brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. Blinking rapidly and mentally shaking yourself, you try your best to focus on the group surrounding you.

Romilda lets out a sunny chortle as your shots arrive and you all clink glasses before downing the sweet concoction.

Pansy clears her throat and, swaying slightly on her feet, addresses the group, “Well nerds, it's been ah-mazing, but I am out!” Laughing and smiling you all take turns hugging her goodbye. The group shares a snicker as she grabs Lee on her way out, pulling the handsome rogue through the door and out of the tavern behind her. Her departure spurs that of Hannah and Katie as well, and before long there is only Romilda and Lavender left, with you sitting right in between them.

“So Padma, no date?” Lavender asks as she runs a single rouge-lacquered fingertip in circles over your shoulder, the sensation adding to the lightheaded feeling a night full of drinking has already blanketed you in.

Romilda rolls her eyes and absentmindedly tugs on one of her dark chocolate curls, as she leans in to you and adds in a stage whisper, “I'm pretty sure what Lav is so subtly trying to figure out is if you’re single.”

“Romi!” Lavender shouts good naturedly, and you blush as they both laugh conspiratorially. An ache begins to grow between your thighs and you shift uncomfortably on the barstool in response.

You lift your eyes from where they rest in your lap, dragging them slowly up Lavender’s fishnet clad thighs to her full hips. You’re worrying at your lip as they continue their journey to the dip of her petite waste, which carries you further along to the swell of her full breasts that are threatening to spill out of the tiny silver dress that's stretched across them. Hesitantly, you raise your eyes to her full pink pout, letting them linger there, before finishing their climb to meet her dove grey ones.

The words rush out of your mouth before you can stop them, “No date, but I've got a slot open.”

Lavender’s eyes brighten, and suddenly she's swirled your seat around and is standing between your legs, her fingers lightly skipping up and down your outer thighs. Her butterscotch scented breath fills your lungs as she leans in, her lips hovering over yours, and breathily asks, “Really?” Struggling to regain your composure, you nod in response.

“Only one slot?,” she asks as she peers over your shoulder; and you gasp as you feel Romilda’s hands circle your waist, gently tugging you back while she nestles her nose against your neck, and softly bites into the flesh of your shoulder.

“Okay, two,” you reply huskily.

The words have barely left your mouth before both Lavender and Romilda have pressed firmly against you, and hearing Romilda utter an incantation you feel the familiar tug in the pit of your stomach as the three of you disapparate.

  
  


You gasp as you feel your feet hit the ground and have only a few moments to take in the familiar surroundings of one of the guest rooms at the Hog’s Head Inn before Lavender’s lips are crushed against yours and Romilda begins to peel your skirt down your hips and thighs. Reaching out you grip the hem of Lavender’s dress, tugging her against your body and slowly beginning to drag the flimsy garment up her body, your hands shake with longing at the new experience. Your lips leave hers so you can take in the sight of her flawless porcelain skin as she tugs the sequined shift over her head, the honey coloured waves of her hair cascading over creamy shoulders. Her grey eyes sparkle as they meet yours and you can feel the magic crackling off of both of your bodies.

Giving you a cheeky grin, Lavender rests her hands on your hip bones and spins you around to face Romilda, who's shed her own clothing while your back was turned. A rush of pleasure courses through you at the sight of the beautiful woman before you, every bit as confident and playful as in your school days. From the tips of her violet-lacquered toes, to the narrow curve of her cafe au lait coloured thighs, and the pert swell of her pretty little cocoa-tipped breasts, she positively oozes sex. Drawing you towards her, Romilda tugs roughly at the tie of the blouse wrapped around your body, and your eyes flutter shut as she and Lavender pass the long strips of silk back and forth to each other in an agonizingly slow dance, as together they finish undressing you.

“How did we forget how stunning she is?” Romilda’s velvety voice asks, and you open your eyes to find her and Lavender watching you wolfishly, as their bodies press against one another in a familiar manner. Realization tugs at the back of your mind that this most assuredly is not the pair's first night together.

“No clue, but she's a delicious little snack, isn't she? Sweeter than a treacle tart.” Lavender responds boldly, her piercing gaze trailing over the long ebony swath of hair that flows from your shoulder, down the soft lines of your torso, before finally coming to rest against your hip. You color prettily at the compliment, a flush darkening your cinnamon-coloured cheeks. “And humble too,” her voice drops at your response, as pearly teeth drag over her full lower lip.

You stand nervously before the gorgeous pair as curiosity, hesitation, and longing course through you.

“Trust us?” Romilda asks you, holding out her hand to you. You nod, accepting her offering, and enjoying the view of their luscious forms as they lead you to a large four-poster bed placed against a far wall. Romilda is tall and lean, while Lavender is shorter and more amply curved; two beautiful extremes of the feminine form.

Once you've reached the bed, the two part and, lifting a wand you hadn't seen in her hand earlier, Lavender points first to you and then the bed, invoking a charm. Suddenly you feel yourself being flung to the bed, drawing a shocked gasp from you. You land on your back, grateful for the pillowy surface, mere seconds before your arms are drawn over your head and your legs are pulled apart and pinned into place by silken black cloths.

“Are you still alright, lovely?” Romilda asks, her brows knitting together with gentle concern as she watches you.

Worrying at your lower lip you nod in reply.

Lavender beams at you, speaking tenderly, “If you decide you want to stop, just let us know. Okay?”

Your eyes widen in a powerful brew of excitement and fear as she lightly draws one finger over your insole.

“Alright,” you reply boldly with an acknowledging tip of your chin.

Pleased with this response, you're met with Lavender’s tinkling laughter; the sound a soothing balm as she crawls up to you from the foot of the bed. Coming to rest beside you she runs her crimson nails from your pelvis up to your breasts, before capturing one of your swollen nipples between her fingers beginning to knead it. Slowly she curls a leg over yours, grinding her clit against your thigh. You briefly struggle against your restraints until she draws your earlobe into her warm, wet mouth and, tugging softly, she purrs into your ear, “Relax, kitten.”

Dreamily, you sigh and your muscles seem to melt as her lips find yours once more. She drags her nails across your chest, bringing them to rest on your other aching breast. You close your eyes as pleasure ripples through your body and her tongue dances in and out of your mouth, twisting sensually around yours, the combined sensations triggering a swelling ache between your thighs.

With a start, you open your eyes and watch as Romilda begins her slow ascent up the bed and your body, trailing feather-soft kisses from the inside of your ankle all the way up to your inner thigh. The feel of her warm breath against your achingly wet pussy has you straining against your restraints once more as you arch your hips up, desperate to feel her mouth against you.

“Please!” you gasp, as your heart hammers away at your ribcage.

Romilda smiles wickedly up at you and leans down to press a kiss to the little crescent moon of raven colored curls sitting at the junction of your thighs, the only hair left on your body after the earlier festivities of the day. At the sound of your sharp intake of breath, she looks up to Lavender’s resting form beside you. Turning your head, you catch the subtle nod that the blonde bombshell gives to the brunette beauty resting between your thighs.

Before your lust-drunk mind can process what the pair's shared glances could possibly mean, both sets of supple lips are pressed to the tenderest parts of your body. Lavender’s golden halo of waves ripple across your ribcage as she curls one arm over your waist and leans down, capturing one of your swollen-tipped nipples in her mouth, biting down gently. A strangled cry is torn from your body as Romilda winds her arms under your thighs and tugs your hips down to meet her mouth, running her tongue slowly up your pussy, licking up your wetness before wrapping her lips around the bundle of nerves joined at the apex of your sex. You sob as your former classmates deliciously assault your senses in tandem and your mind struggles to focus as a pleasure you've never experienced before builds within you.

You lose sense of time as you drown in the heady mixture of Lavender and Romilda’s sweet and musky scents, shared moans, and coaxing embraces. After what could be seconds or hours, your legs begin to tremble and your ardent cries fill the small room. As their delicious coaxing pushes you over the edge, wave after wave of mind-numbing ecstasy crashes over your body. Laying in a gloriously numb heap and panting as you attempt to regain your breath, you look down at the lovey pair and a shy smile spreads across your face. 

Winking at you in response, Romilda crawls across your thighs, her perfectly bare and dewy muff grazing your thigh before she slips off the bed. Standing before Lavender, Romilda grabs the smaller girl by the hips and drags her to the edge of the bed, leaning over her and kissing her breasts and stomach. You watch hungrily as Romi kneels on the floor, all but her shoulders and beautiful face disappearing from view as she buries her mouth between Lav’s thighs.

Moaning throatily, Lavender rests her head on your thigh and a stray coil of flaxen hair falls between your legs, tickling the tender and aching flesh between them. Winding her hands into Romilda’s shimmering mahogany ringlets, she shoves the other girl’s mouth more tightly against her sex, grinding her hips in a rhythmic motion. Lavender’s full breasts heave as her breathing becomes more erratic and with each upwards gasp you long to give to her what she's given to you. You want to trap the taught pink buds in your mouth and suck on them until she comes undone beneath you.

As though reading your thoughts, Romi stands up and leans over Lav, suckling and nibbling at the tender flesh of her nipples. Longing grips you as Lavender’s head rocks back into your thigh and she cries out while gripping Romilda’s head to her chest, before slowly coming to a panting rest on the pillowy comforter beneath you. A light sheen of perspiration covers her body, causing it glow in the moonlight. 

Two pairs of luminous eyes turn towards you as your lust-filled groan reaches their ears, and Lavender grabs her wand from its resting place beside your head. Sliding off the bed and onto the floor, she murmurs a soft incantation and gently swishes her wrist, releasing your bindings. Smiling at you teasingly from over her shoulder, she pads away from you, heading across the room towards the bathroom. As you sit up and flex the stiff muscles in your arms and legs, your eyes fall on Romilda lounging at the foot of the bed. Need courses through you and you surge up and kneel before her, taking pleasure at the widening of her dark eyes as you part her legs and crawl between them.

Spreading her slender thighs and pinning them in place, you hover over her freshly waxed and perfectly smooth pussy, not looking away from her gaze as you mimic her earlier caresses. With slow and deliberate movements you trail your tongue along her opening, moaning at the creamy, slightly tangy flavor of her, a thrill traveling through you at her sharp intake of breath. Drawing one hand up her thigh and across her pelvis, you part her lips and sink a finger into the wet, warm, velvet of her femininity; at the same time capturing her clit between your lips, you tenderly begin to suck and flick your tongue against the tender bunch of nerves.

“Morgana yes!” Romilda groans as she runs her fingers through your onyx locks.

Chuckling with delight at her wanton cries, you slide a second finger into her slick pussy along with the first and, crooking them into a beckoning motion, you begin to quickly draw them in and out. Before long she is writhing beneath you, her hips bucking up against your lips as the flicking of your tongue against her sweet spot becomes more insistent, and you slide your free arm under a thigh, holding her firmly to you. Unable to hold back any longer, Romi slides her legs over your shoulders, tightening her thighs and arching her hips off the bed. It's not long before you can feel the soft folds of her womanhood quivering against your fingers and lips as she cries out incoherently, before slowly sinking back down to the mattress, spent.

Propping yourself up on two elbows, you look up at her and find an expression of impressed wonder resting on her pretty face. The curls that surround her face cling to her temples and neck, a rosy flush kissing her cheeks, and you take a few moments to appreciate how the years have only made her lovelier. You smile as she crooks her pointer finger at you and, acquiescing, you crawl up her supple body. Coming to rest beside her, you wrap your arms around her tiny waist and lean down to share a gentle kiss, before laying your head on her shoulder. You listen to the frantic tango of Romilda’s heartbeat gradually slowing into a steady rhythm while together you lay cuddling, her fingers combing tenderly through your thick, silken tresses.

Shortly thereafter you hear the bathroom door open and Lavender’s soft footsteps approaching the bed. Peeking over your shoulder you watch the stunning witch approach, her luminous mane falling in damp corkscrews around her shoulders, shining as though made by spun gold. A fluffy white towel is wrapped around her torso, revealing a stretch of creamy thigh as her hips sway while she pads towards you. She's stunning, a muse, and you smile sleepily as she comes to a stop beside you and drops the ivory cloth, revealing her supple curves before crawling into bed beside you.

You huff with mock annoyance as the towel disappears from view. “I do hope you saved some for us, this isn't the Prefects’ bathroom after all,” you quip.

Pinching your hip playfully she replies, “Oh yeah, there are mountains of them. If you're not nice I'll summon Peeves so he can pelt you with them.”

Romi chuckles at the two of your banter, placing a light peck against your temple.

Picking up her wand from where she'd left it on the bedside table, Lav waves it with a flourish, and moments later a soft velvet coverlet quilts you in comforting warmth. Lavender lays an arm across you as she presses her rose scented and bath-warmed body into yours, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck.

You can't help but smile and mentally thank your ginger ex for putting you on the spot during his attempted invasion of the Three Broomsticks earlier in the night. As you drift to sleep you can swear you hear your late headmaster’s voice ringing in your ears; Dumbledore’s playful tenor shouting, “Ten points to Gryffindor, for exceptional taste in women!”

  


_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_  



	9. Mischief and Mayhem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

You step into the Entrance Hall and are immediately met with the loud murmur of many voices talking in unison. There are groups of people standing around the warm Hall, catching up and sharing pictures of children, pets, and new gadgets. You pause for a moment to drink in the celebratory atmosphere, a lazy smile creeping onto your face.

“Oi, Hello!” shouts a red-faced Oliver Wood as he approaches you. “It’s been too long, mate. We didn’t know if you’d be making it!” He nearly knocks you over as he jovially claps you on the back. It’s clear he partook heavily of the Goblin Wine during the feast.

“Of course I made it,” you reply, “I wouldn’t miss this for all the Quidditch Cups in the…” a giant yawn interrupts your sentence, “Bloody hell, I’m right knackered. I haven’t had this much festivity in a long while. I’ll need to be heading to bed soon.”

Laughing, Oliver claps you on the back again, “And here I thought I would be the old one around here. Well, I’m off.  A group of folks are meeting up and heading to Hogsmeade. I’ll see you around.” You wave as Oliver walks away, and start heading toward the stairs leading to the guest dormitories.

As you cross the hall, you are stopped once again by a familiar face, “Well hello! I am so very pleased to see you.”

“Hello, Professor Flitwick,” you say, yawning again. “So much activity around here, isn’t there?”

“Why yes, yes there is!” he practically squeaks, “I do so love these gatherings. So much mischief!” he says, winking at you. “Are you heading anywhere fun? I can’t help but notice many pairs sneaking away.”

You’re so shocked for a moment that you can’t think of anything to say.  Finally, you manage to compose yourself and, blushing, you reply, “Er, no. Just heading to bed for now.”

“Ah well, there is always tomorrow!” He says, scurrying off again with a hurried wave.

If you never have to have another discussion about sex with Professor Flitwick, even in the abstract, you would be quite content. Shaking your head, you continue to the stairs, keeping your eyes down in the hopes of not running into anyone else. You reach the stairs with no further interruption, but sigh in frustration as they start to move when you’ve only made it halfway up. Clutching the rail, you wait for the stairs to settle before heading back down to the Entrance Hall to find another way.

Still hoping to avoid further conversation, you head toward the back of the Entrance Hall. You’re almost sure the back stairwell leads to a small, narrow hidden passage that you can crawl through to make it out right by the dormitories. If memory serves you well, the passageway is essentially the size of a muggle air duct but you’re willing to risk your knees to get to bed.

You get about a third of the way up the stairs when you hear it — a large **CRASH**. Turning around abruptly, you peer into the darkness of the back Hall, but can’t see a thing. Maybe it was just Peeves. You take one more step and — **CRASH** — there it is again! Even if it is Peeves, you feel like you should investigate; after all, you’re a responsible adult now. But. You’re not _the_ responsible adult.

**CRASH.**

What do you do?

_If your know you’ll never be able to get to sleep_  
_unless you know what that CRASH was,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 10](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33708306)._

_If you figure an “adultier” adult will take care of it,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 17](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33735711)._


	10. P-P-P-Potter Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

You walk back into the Entrance Hall and see a suit of armour, with its head missing, clambering and crashing blindly around the room and walking every so often into paintings and furniture. Raucous laughter rings out over the squeaking and clattering of the armour. You tear your eyes away from the ridiculous sight to see Fred and George Weasley sitting on the marble staircase doubled over with laughter, one of the twins has a helmet tucked under his arm.

You dodge to miss the outstretched arms of the armour as it ambles past you and make your way quickly towards the twins. Fred’s eyes light up mischievously when he sees you, “Well well, look who it is George!”

“Long time no see,” smirks George, spinning the helmet in his hands which causes the armour to walk around in dizzying circles.

“Up to your old tricks already?” you ask smiling. “It’s only the first night.”

“We have reputations to live up to!” exclaims Fred, puffing up his chest. George rises to his feet, “For too long there has been peace and order in these hallowed corridors.”

“We’re here to rectify that,” says Fred, standing shoulder to shoulder with his brother. Then George frowns, “You’re not going to tattle on us, are you?”

“Nah, you wouldn’t do that!” says Fred with a menacing glint in his eye. “We’re old friends after all.”

“I won’t say a word,” you assure them, putting your hand over your heart. “Because I know what’s good for me.”

The twins snigger.

“Wise choice,” says Fred. “Although, we recommend you avoid the third floor corridor this evening.”

“Fred and I have a little surprise for whoever’s unlucky enough to wander down there tonight,” George continues.

“Unless you’d like to tango with a promiscuous strain of non-venomous tentacula?” asks Fred, his grin broadening.

“Eh, no thanks,” you say taking a step back. George and Fred look disappointed, but shrug and say in unison, “Suit yourself.”

George shouts “Catch!” and throws the helmet into your hands before he and his brother dart up the stairs and out of sight. You return the helmet to the suit of armour and it gives you a pat on the shoulder in thanks before shuffling out of the Entrance Hall. It is only in the absence of the clanging armour and laughter of the Weasley twins that you hear more voices. One voice is getting louder, shouting.

You look around the Entrance Hall and can’t initially see the source of the commotion, then you hear a familiar voice cry, “This is outrageous!”

The voice makes you still for a moment. Surely it can’t be…

“I’m sorry Severus, but rules are rules,” retorts another familiar, albeit friendlier, voice. You look around the room confused until your eyes fall upon a large portrait hanging halfway up the marble staircase. You climb the stairs to get a closer look and struggle to suppress a laugh at the sight before you.

Sat at a large, red velvet poker table are a number of familiar faces in varying stages of undress. Sir Cadogan is sitting to the far right of the portrait, wearing only his helmet, sword holster and white briefs. To his left is The Fat Lady and her friend Violet, both reduced to little more than their bra and bloomers. Phineas Nigellus Black – dressed in a white shirt, tie and knee-high socks – is shaking his head at the cards in his hand while Dumbledore sits at the centre of the table in purple robes; the only person fully dressed waiting patiently for the others to decide their next move. To Dumbledore’s left sits Barnabas the Barmy, currently shirtless and missing his sock and to his left you recognise Cedric Diggory, dressed in only his boxers and yellow school tie. He sighs looking at his cards, but he at least is smiling, unlike the man to his left. There sits Severus Snape, stark naked and furious.

“This is an outrage!” shouts Snape, brandishing his cards angrily.

“There is nothing I can do,” says Dumbledore serenely. “If you have no more clothes then you must forfeit the game.”

“Better luck next time, sir,” says Cedric almost apologetically.

“You fought valiantly, good sir!” cries Sir Cadogan raising his goblet to Snape. “But you shall fall by my sword along with your comrades.” He throws his cards onto the table in a dramatic flourish, “Royal Flush! Suck it, Snape.”

“Shut up, you imbecile!” spits Snape, “Merlin, I am doomed to spend eternity playing cards with a bunch of dunderheads and cheats!”

“I am a man of honour. I never cheat!” cries Sir Cadogan indignantly and pulls his sword from its scabbard, “Draw, you knave! I shall defend my honour!”

“Don’t bother,” grumbles Snape throwing his cards onto the table and rising to his feet, making no effort to preserve his decency.

“You’re more than welcome to watch the rest of the game and drink with us, sir,” Cedric offers. Snape glares at him and spits, “I have more constructive ways to spend my time than sitting here with your ilk. Goodnight to you all.”

Without another word Snape storms out of the painting.

“Snap!” shouts Barnabas.

“Wrong game, Barny,” tuts the Fat Lady.

“Why do we always invite him to play cards with us?” complains Violet. “He’s such a sore loser!”

“Because he is a former headmaster of Hogwarts and we ought to treat him with the honour and respect such a position warrants!” replies Phineus pompously.

“Nothing to do with the fact that he always brings decent wine to the games?” the Fat Lady muses. Phineus looks affronted, “Certainly not! I am appalled at the insinuation, My Lady. That you would think so little of me…”

Phineus takes a sip of his wine and mutters, “Mmm, that’s the good stuff.”

“Looks like most of you are having a fun evening,” you say smiling fondly and all eyes turn on you. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles, “A pleasure to see you again, it’s been a long time since we last met. I take that you are doing well?”

“Very well sir, thank you for asking,” you reply. “Although I didn’t realise how much I missed Hogwarts until I came back here tonight. It’s great to be back.”

“It’s great to have you back,” Cedric assures. “How’s the reunion going?”

“Well enough,” you reply. “Nice to see some more than others.”

“I’m sure,” laughs Cedric before askings, “Is Cho here by any chance?”

“I think I’ve seen her around, yeah,” you reply. Cedric smiles sadly, “Well, if you talk to her tell her I was asking for her.”

“Will do,” you reply with a nod. You look fondly around the Great Hall and say, “Doesn’t look like much has changed since my school days.”

Cedric shakes his head, “Not much, no. The biggest change has been in Prefect’s Bathroom. They installed a Jacuzzi a couple years back, so you should check it out!”

“I might just do that,” you reply, nodding. “Does Myrtle still hang out there a lot?”

Cedric sighs, “That she does. Although with this many old students in the castle she could be anywhere tonight.”

Suddenly, Colin Creevey comes rushing into the portrait.

“Professor Dumbledore, sir!” he pants breathlessly. “Someone has broken into the dungeons!”

Dumbledore frowns, “The dungeons, you say? Did you see who it was?”

Colin shakes his head, “The other portraits are talking about it so I thought I’d come tell you, Professor.”

“Never fear! Sir Cadogan is on the case!” cries the knight while brandishing his sword so wildly that everyone at the table has to duck their heads before he runs out of the portrait.

“He’s going the wrong way,” says the Fat Lady in a bored voice.

“It would seem so,” agrees Dumbledore.

“Just leave him to it,” says Violet waving her hand dismissively. “He’ll do less damage not getting involved.”

Dumbledore smiles at you and says, “You are in a better position to intervene than we are. If you would be so kind as to investigate the disruption in the dungeons for us, it would be most appreciated. I am quite keen to conclude my card game.”

“Eh, sure...” you reply uncertainly. Dumbledore nods to you in thanks and turns to the others at the table, “Shall we play another round?”

“What’s the point?” complains Phineus discarding his cards on the table. “We don’t have enough players anymore to play a decent game!”

“Then how about a game of exploding snap?” asks Dumbledore. Cedric nods, “Yeah. Count me in!”

“Twist.” Says Barnabas and the Fat Lady rolls her eyes but says nothing.

You back away from the portrait unsure of what to do next. Professor Dumbledore trusted you to check out the disturbance on his behalf, but you’re no longer a student here – it isn’t really your responsibility to investigate these things.

Visiting the Prefect’s Bathroom sounds much more tempting. You’re keen to check out that new Jacuzzi that Cedric told you about. But then again if you check out the dungeons, you will be doing Professor Dumbledore a favour…

_If the siren song of that Jacuzzi is too strong to resist,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 14](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33735450)._

_If you feel honour bound by your promise and decide_  
_to investigate the dungeons, Apparate to[Chapter 11](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33708966)._


	11. Dungeons and Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

You aren’t really accustomed to receiving direct requests from Dumbledore, especially a painted version surrounded by half-naked colleagues, but nonetheless you find yourself pleased that he so easily placed his trust in you and decide to investigate. After all, interesting things always happen in the dungeons.

You descend the stairs towards the Entrance Hall and take a dim corridor that veers sharply to the left. No one else is in this area, though you can still hear the faint murmur of voices drifting in from the Hall. As you walk down the corridor, you run your fingers along the stone wall until you feel a familiar protuberance. Smiling, you tap your wand to the spot and wait as a hidden entrance opens to a spiral staircase.

You look around to see if anyone noticed your fun trick, but realize you are still alone. Rolling your eyes, you vow to bring someone by later to show it off. One _Lumos_ and a quick jog down five flights of stairs later, you exit the secret passage into the dungeons.

“And what are _you_ doing here?” snarls Snape. You look up and see the painting Snape must have retreated to after leaving the card game. He’s pacing the length of the portrait and though he has a robe on, the front is still undone and flaps open with each dramatic turn.

You close your eyes tightly and press the bridge of your nose. Snape glares at you, his pacing (and subsequent flashing) not pausing. “Have you seen anything untoward down here?” you ask, hoping to redirect his bad temper. “Colin Creevey interrupted the card game after you left to indicate a disturbance down here, perhaps you’ve seen something?”

“Oh! Lose one card game and suddenly I am to be demoted to a lowly watchman’s post! Is that it?” Snape asks, his normally placid voice unusually shrill. He’s stopped pacing and is stood with one hip slightly canted out, a fist resting on it. Unfortunately, the fist also holds back his robe, putting his flaccid member and silken pubes on full display, right at eye level.

Sighing, you roll your head to release tension from your neck. “Perhaps you’ve been demoted for insisting on thrusting your prick in everyone’s face,” you say calmly.

Narrowing his eyes, Snape snaps his robe shut and promptly walks out of the frame. So much for him being a help. You look around the hall to see if you can spot any obvious signs of a disturbance as you still haven’t heard anything. You notice a light shining from a partially open door down the hall and head that direction.

You smile as you approach the door and recognize it as the Potions classroom. You slowly push into the room, careful to glance into every corner and behind the door; many a person has broken into the Potions room in order to access the supply cupboard. The room appears empty, but you decide to have a look around anyway.

There is a row of bubbling cauldrons along the back wall and you approach to identify the brew. Ah! An Antidote Potion; so this was the work of Fourth Years. You walk down the row, inspecting each cauldron. You scoff as you come across one potion belching out thick smoke and gurgling in a color not like the others. “Hmm. I wonder if there is a Longbottom spawn in this class.” you say to the empty room. You briefly consider fixing the potion, then decide to let the weak thin themselves out.

Just then, you hear a scuffling noise behind you. You whip around but see nothing. However, you notice the door to the Potion Teacher’s office is open—you’re sure that hadn’t been open when you first walked into the room. You pull your wand out of your back pocket and slowly creep toward the entrance to the office. Soundlessly, you push the door open and your eyes briefly widen in surprise before your face falls into an effortless smirk.

You cross your arms and lean against the doorframe. “Hello, _Potter_.”

_Apparate to[Chapter 12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33709344)._

_Apparate to[Chapter 13](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33735360)._


	12. Bound to Happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

“Malfoy,” his green eyes glitter as he says your name. Challenge is vibrating from every inch of him. He’s wearing his usual outfit of horrid Muggle attire, but instead of being overly large, as it was when he was a boy, it all seems a tad too tight now. The black shirt lovingly hugs his muscled arms and the trousers leave very little of his southern territory to the imagination. There is grey threaded through his wild locks now, but it only serves to make the bastard look better. You’re actually surprised he came to the reunion as he has become something of a recluse lately.  

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you move fully into the room, reaching behind yourself with one hand and pulling the door closed behind you. Just in case.

“Oh you know ... just strolling down memory lane,” Potter says. He leans back against the desk and crosses his arms.    

That ridiculous thought makes you laugh out loud; some of your greatest triumphs against Potter occurred in the classroom behind you. “Really? But you were shit at potions, Potter,” you scoff.  

“I wasn’t thinking about potions class,” his voice is low and husky and it sends shivers down your spine. He moves his hands to grasp the edge of the desk on either side of him and spreads his legs out a bit.  

Your mind whirls. He couldn’t possibly be talking about what you think he is talking about.  That was just that one time, so very long ago. A flush spreads across your cheeks as you remember the things you did to each other that night. You risk a look in his direction and catch him staring at you with a shrewd glint in his eyes and a smirk on his face.   

“I hear you’re single now,” he tosses out to you. His face looks smug and knowing, and you so badly want to wipe that expression from it.

“I hear you are too,” you counter. His divorce and Girl Weasley’s subsequent relationship with Luna Lovegood had been splashed across the pages of the Daily Prophet for weeks.  

“I have something to show you,” his rough voice scrapes along your skin. “Come here.”

“I’ll bet,” you answer sarcastically. _I have something to show you too_ , you think to yourself.  Why is it that Potter can always get to you like this?

“No, not that. You dirty minded berk,” he laughs. “Just come over here.”  

Without conscious thought, your feet are moving toward him and before you know it you are standing between his parted legs. You are so close you can see the fine lines that fan out from his piercing eyes. His hair, as messy as ever, falls across his forehead and over one eye, and you have to physically stop yourself from reaching up to brush it back from his face. He has a day’s growth of black and grey stubble and you wonder what it would feel like against your fingertips, against the skin of your stomach, and of your thighs. Your throat is suddenly dry and you swallow hard. He is staring at you like he used to look at treacle tarts in the Great Hall.  

He reaches into his front pocket. “Here,” he holds out his hand and you can see the silky black cloth spilling from it.  

“Is that ...?” you question. You hesitantly touch the cloth in his hand.  

“Yes,” he says breathlessly, “it’s the one we found in Snape’s office during our detention.” The stash of black silk handkerchiefs had been a surprise. You and Potter had stumbled onto it when you had both served detention, long ago. You had been poking around Snape’s office, instead of cleaning cauldrons like you were supposed to.

When Potter had opened the drawer and revealed the tumble of black silk, he had been laughing. Waving them around and making fun of Snape. But then an intense expression had crossed his face and he had turned to you, sliding the silky cloth through his fingers as he walked over to where you were standing. “This would make a great blindfold,” he whispered, “very soft.” You just looked at him with confusion, not understanding what he was doing.

He raised the cloth toward your head, but you batted it away, “What are you doing, Potter?”

“Just . . . just, trust me. OK?” he looked pleadingly at you, and you decided you must have temporary insanity because you did trust him and you lowered your hands. He tied the soft black cloth around your face and suddenly the world vanished, but then his soft lips had found yours and his hands had touched you and you were lost.

You close your eyes against the memories threatening to overwhelm you. _Has he kept it?  All this time?_ A jealous thought has you opening your eyes and blurting out, “Did you use it with her?”

With his free hand, Potter reaches around your back and pulls you close. You stumble a bit as he pulls you toward him, so you put your hands out and they land on his sturdy chest. The cotton of his shirt feels soft and worn, and it slides easily as you move your fingers to trace the muscles underneath.  

 “No.  Never,” he whispers. “Just . . . er,” Potter hesitates, “just with ... myself ... sometimes.”

“Fuck,” you groan, as the image of Potter stroking his cock with the silky cloth floods your brain. You clench your hands in the fabric of his shirt and bite your lip. _This is crazy!_  How can these feelings pop up like this?  It has been so long—it shouldn’t feel so raw, so urgent.  

Potter leans forward and rests his mouth against your ear and you can feel his warm breath tease your skin. “I think we should use it again,” he whispers.

Your knees threaten to buckle, so you tighten your hold on him. He responds by putting both arms around you and bringing your body flush against his. Your heart is beating so hard you think it just might fly out of your chest. _This can’t be happening!_  His arms are strong and secure; he’s got you. You draw in a shaky breath. “I don’t know,” you whisper back.  

“Please Draco,” he says in low urgent tones, and you feel a corresponding ache in both your groin and your heart. And just like that your inner resistance melts. Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, is begging to have you! More importantly, Harry—the man you have wanted forever—wants you back.  

You bury your face against his neck. “How ... how would we?” you ask hesitantly. Last time, he had tied the cloth around your eyes and it had magnified your sense of touch as he had done wonderful things with his lips and tongue. This time you want to be able to see him; you want to watch his face as it’s suffused with the pleasure of his climax.  

“I, er ... I thought, uh,” Potter sounds nervous.  “I thought you could tie my hands ... if you like.” You can feel his heart beating frantically underneath your hand and you feel reassured that he is not setting you up. You search his eyes, looking to get a read on his emotions. In those green eyes you see want, need, and something you can’t quite define.  

He pulls his arms from around your waist and brings them between your bodies. He holds them up to you, wrists held together in silent invitation, and raises one eyebrow. “No,” you say, and his face briefly registers disappointment, but it quickly melts away when you reach for his wrists and push them behind his back to fasten them there instead.  

“Fuck, yes!” he growls and pushes his groin against yours so that you can feel his prick is already hard.  

You use the black cloth to tie his wrists together. It is purely decorative—you both know that Potter has so much power he could escape with a flick of his wrist—but damn if he doesn’t look good like this! A flush has risen in his cheeks, giving them a rosy glow. He has a wild look in his eyes, his chest is rising and falling rapidly, and every muscle in his body has drawn tight and tense. His lips have parted and he is waiting for your next move.  

Cold dungeon air fills your lungs as you take a small step back and take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself so that you don’t come in your trousers like an inexperienced teenager. You close your eyes and briefly press your hand against your aching cock, trying to get some small measure of relief. Your eyes fly open when Potter makes a needy whine in his throat.

“Draco!” he moans your name and you haven’t even touched him yet!  This is too much; Potter is going to fucking kill you!

You step forward again until you are nestled between his legs. Running your hands up the outside of his thighs until you can grab his arse, you jerk his body roughly into yours so that your cocks are pressed tightly together. Potter whimpers and you start to melt inside. He raises one of his legs and wraps it around you and you could come like this you think, but you don’t want to. Not yet. You have so many plans for Potter’s luscious body!  

The muscles of his arse clench and shift as you slide your hands from his arse and up under his shirt. His skin is soft and so hot to the touch. He moans again as you caress his skin and slide your hands around to his chest, the muscles of his stomach jump and tighten when you graze them. You find the wiry hair leading south from his belly button and you become entranced. With your thumbs, you gently trace the path to the waistband of his trousers.

“Draco!” Potter pleads before he leans forward and captures your mouth in a rough kiss that’s a clash of lips and teeth and the repressed emotion of more than two decades. You groan back into his mouth and your tongues slide and tangle together. You can’t believe how much you want this man!  

All there is is this man and this moment. You need more! You shove his shirt up roughly, catching it on his chin and ears as you pull it over his head and then push it down his arms to rest on top of his secured hands. When the fabric clears his head, Potter dives for your neck and starts kissing and licking a path from your ear to your shoulder.  

Slipping out the buttons of your shirt, you slowly start to bare your chest. Potter makes a sound of appreciation and moves his mouth to the newly exposed skin. A strong wave of need almost buckles your knees, so you press yourself closer to Potter, clutching his head to you just as his tongue finds your right nipple. He teases it until it’s stiff and then sucks on it hard. As he releases it, he lightly scrapes his teeth across it causing you to groan loudly; he laughs darkly and does it again. After a brief infinity, he moves his mouth and gives equal attention to the other nipple. _Fuck!_ You are never going to last at this rate. Potter doesn’t even have the use of his hands and he has already made you feel so fucking good.  

Potter’s hair feels surprisingly soft and silky as you tighten your fingers and drag his mouth back up to yours for another scorching kiss. Deciding you need to take control back, you drop to your knees. The stone floor is cold and unyielding, and your knees will probably ache tomorrow, but in this minute you don’t give a fuck.  

You rub your cheek against the bulge in Potter’s trousers and now he is the one who is groaning and coming undone. “Draco!” he pants as you mouth along the impressive length underneath the fabric. “Please!” he thrusts his hips forward, seeking more friction. You lean back a little to look up at him and his glittering eyes are following your every move. His hair has fallen across his eyes and his lips are parted as he pants softly.  

He whimpers as you press your palm against his trousers and squeeze his cock, the needy sound shooting straight to your own prick, and you use your free hand to give yourself a squeeze as well.  With shaking fingers you open his fly and lower his zipper, pleased to see that his undapants have a wet spot from his precome. You trace around the outline of the plump head of his cock with your fingertips, wanting him to beg.

“Please, Draco!” he begs.

“Please what, Harry?” you ask, trying to sound nonchalant, like you do this all the time, but in reality, your voice is husky and betrays the need you have for him.  

“Please suck me,” Potter replies in a raspy voice of his own.  

Haste makes you clumsy as you tug his undapants down to his knees, finally exposing his cock to your gaze. It’s flushed a deep red and is so hard and thick ... it’s perfect. You run your finger along the length, savouring the soft velvet of his skin. Potter whimpers and thrusts toward you again, making his hard prick stroke against your hand. You swirl your fingertip around the head and gather some of his slippery precome on your finger. Locking your grey eyes with his green ones, you lift that finger to your mouth and suck it in, letting the taste of him coat your tongue.

“You’re fucking killing me, Draco!” Potter moans before he closes his eyes and leans back more, offering himself up to you. Just the sound of his voice pushes your arousal higher.  

You lick all around the head, getting him nice and wet, before you suck him into your mouth. He is so thick that the head fills your mouth, but you don’t mind. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you stroke with your left hand, moving your right hand down to your own fly to release your cock too. You groan as you wrap your hand around your prick and squeeze and you know that Potter can feel the vibration from your mouth. He whimpers some more and you stroke both cocks harder and faster, moving your mouth along his length frantically licking and sucking.

“I can’t ... I’m gonna ...” he warns, but the warning isn’t needed—you want all of him. Desperate to see him come again after so many years, you suck harder, tipping him over the edge. His salty release fills your mouth and you quickly swallow. In the next moment, his arms are pulling you up to him and he kisses you deeply while wrapping his own hand around your throbbing prick. He licks his tongue into your mouth, surely tasting himself, as he hurriedly strokes your cock.  

Pleasure suffuses you and your entire sense of self melts down to nothing but this feeling of naked, needy want. Potter twists his hand and whispers roughly in your ear, “Come for me, Draco,” and then you are falling, tipping over the edge into oblivion, your body tightens and then releases and you are pure pleasure and satisfaction.  

You float in the pool of your own pleasure for a moment before reality starts to intrude on your consciousness. You are both breathing raggedly and you can feel the puffs of Potter’s breaths against the base of your neck. His arms are around you, supporting your weight and making you feel protected and safe. You don’t want to move and go back into the world where you and Potter are nothing but former rivals and casual acquaintances. You don’t know how you will be able to bear going back to just seeing him from afar after this. You managed it once, years ago, but you’re not sure you’re strong enough to do it again. You know that you’ve been standing here wrapped around each other for far too long, but he doesn’t seem to be moving either, so you continue to rest in his arms, stroking your hand through his hair.  

After a while, he pulls back and tucks his cock back into his trousers, so you follow suit. You start to button up your shirt but he pulls you back against his still-bare chest. Startled, you put your hands out and they land on the soft hair that covers his upper chest. Reaching out, he cups your cheek and runs his thumb softly across your cheekbone.

“I want more,” he states boldly, in his typical Gryffindor fashion.  

“Well, give me thirty minutes and I think that can be arranged,” you answer, giddy that he still wants you.  

“No,” he shakes his head, still stroking your cheek. “I want more ... much more! I want everything. All of you!” You look back at him in confusion, trying to figure out what he could possibly mean. _Is he talking about topping? If so, that could be arranged!_  He leans over and gives you a tender kiss. “I want a future with you, Draco. I want to give us a try.”

Your heart starts to stutter. And then it starts to ache. “This can’t be true,” you whisper as the ache fills your throat and tears sting your eyes. “Why would you ...” you begin in confusion. You try to duck your face away, but he won’t let you.

His strong hands tenderly cradle your face. “It’s true. I choose you, Draco. You’re the one I want.” Potter leans in and his voice drops to a low whisper, his lips almost touching yours, “It’s always been you, Draco.” And then his warm lips are brushing against yours and warm tendrils that feel like hope start to curl around your heart.

 

_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_


	13. Hot for Teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

Albus Severus Potter sits on the edge of the large, mahogany desk in the centre of the office with a sly smile, “That’s Professor Potter to you, Mr. Malfoy.”

An involuntary shiver runs up your spine at the husky timbre of his voice, but you keep your expression impassive, “Colin Creevey said there was some sort of disturbance down here. Professor Dumbledore sent me down to investigate.”

“Really?” he asks sounding unsurprised at this revelation. You note with curiosity that he’s still wearing his teacher’s robes. He usually strips them off the moment the bell rings, signalling the end of classes.

“I thought it might have been Peeves or some students pilfering your supply cupboard,” you shrug. “We did it enough times when we were students. But I don’t suppose one can really break into their own office. Since nothing sinister is going on, we may as well head to bed. Are you coming?”

“I’m not tired,” says Albus, leaning further back onto the desk. “Certainly not now that I have you exactly where I intended you to be.”

You frown in confusion for a moment then ask, “Did you send the Creevey boy to fetch me on purpose?”

Albus nods, “I asked him to find you and say that there had been some kind of disturbance in the dungeon. I promised him that if he did that for me I would get my dad to sign his portrait for him. I’ve known you most of my life Scorp; I knew that you wouldn’t be able to resist the chance of another little nighttime adventure around the castle, especially if it meant you could break a few school rules.”

“You sneaky Slytherin,” you breathe, annoyed and amused in equal measure at how well Albus knows you. “If you wanted me to come down to the dungeon, why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I wanted you to break in,” he replies nonchalantly, something dark and heated stirring behind his bright emerald eyes. “And I wanted to catch you so that I could punish you.”

Albus clicks his fingers and the door shuts behind you with a loud bang. There is an audible _click_ and the door is sealed shut. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“You want to play here?” you ask uncertainly. “In your office?”

“Fuck yes,” he breathes. “You’ve no idea how many times a day I sit here imagining I’ve got you spread over this desk to do with as I please. Why do you think I was so keen for you to come to this bloody reunion?”

You laugh and stride towards Albus, kissing him hard on the mouth. He returns your kiss with equal enthusiasm, running his hands up and down your back as he wraps his legs around your waist and pulls you closer. He begins to rock your hips together and you groan as you feel his growing erection brush against your own.

“So, are you game?” he asks quietly. You palm his erection in your hand and he whimpers.

“Hell yes, I’m game,” you smirk. Albus beams at you and kisses you again, gentler this time. As he breaks the kiss he rises to his feet and a serious expression washes over his face. He picks his wand up off of the desk and taps it impatiently against his leg and your heart begins to race. “Mr. Malfoy, not only are you wandering the corridors after curfew, you have broken into my office. What do you have to say for yourself?”

You drop your gaze and shudder with arousal; you love it when he plays teacher to your naughty student. “I’m sorry, Professor. I don’t have any excuse for breaking the rules.”

You look sheepishly at him, “Are you going to punish me?”

“Severely,” he promises slapping his wand hard against his open palm. “I don’t think writing out lines is going to cut it this time, Mr. Malfoy. I need the message to sink in this time.”

“Message, sir?” you ask innocently. Albus narrows his eyes and brings his face close to yours.

“Never disobey me.”

All the blood in your body rushes south and you feel light-headed. You nod jerkily and reply in a shaky voice, “Y-yes, sir.”

Albus sweeps around the desk to sit at the large winged armchair on the other side. Arranging his robes to hide his growing erection, Albus clears his throat, “Strip.”

With shaky hands you fumble to take off your shirt and tie before Albus interjects, “Strip slowly, Mr. Malfoy. I want to make sure you aren’t hiding any stolen goods on your person.”

You take your time peeling off your shirt, letting the material slide off your back and onto the floor. Although you’re still half-dressed you already feel naked under Albus’ intense scrutiny. Once you shed the last of your clothing you stand in front of him, your aching erection on full display to his scrupulous eyes. Albus licks his lips and inclines his head towards his lap, “Come over here, Mr. Malfoy. It’s time to receive your punishment.”

You hurry over to Albus’ side and assume the position over his lap, your arse high in the air and your hand placed flat on the ground to steady yourself; you’ve played this game enough times to know how you both like it. Albus lightly runs his right hand over your arse cheeks and sighs, “You really have a gorgeous arse, Scorp.”

You wiggle your hips impatiently so he gives you a hard spank and you yelp in surprise, a shot of pleasure shooting straight to your cock, “So impatient, Mr. Malfoy. I was going to give you ten lashings, but after that little display I will need to make it twenty.”  

You groan happily and let your head slump down against Albus’ leg, “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“You will be,” he replies quietly, pulling the top drawer of his desk open. He pulls out a long, wooden ruler and gently rests it against your bare skin, “Ready?”

“Fuck yes, sir!” you exclaim, your breath becoming more ragged even before the ruler makes contact.

 _Whack_.

“Oh, Jesus!” you cry, relishing the satisfying sting where the wood makes contact with your skin.

“You will address me as ‘Professor’ or sir’, Mr. Malfoy,” says Albus silkily and brings the ruler down again slightly higher on your arse this time.

 _Whack_.

You gasp and groan, “Fuck, yes sir!”

With each successive blow you cry out in ecstasy at the pain and pleasure of Albus’ sexual ministrations, striking your bare flesh then gently massaging the flushed skin covetously. Your erection is throbbing angrily now and you rut against Albus’ lap in a vain attempt to satisfy your need to be touched, but Albus notices what you’re doing and slams his ruler down onto the desk, “Did I give you permission to pleasure yourself?”

“No sir,” you gasp, desperate for retribution. Albus clicks his tongue impatiently.

“If you cannot control your impulses, then I will need to intervene.”

Albus gives you a light pat on the rear and you stand up straight, awaiting instruction. Albus inclines his head towards the desk.

“Bend over the desk,” he commands, his voice low and gravelly. “Spread your legs.”

You comply obediently, lying flat on the desk and eagerly lifting your hips up, desperate for physical contact. Resting one hand on your hip, Albus runs the other lovingly through your hair and down your back towards the swell of your pink tinged arse, giving it a firm squeeze, “You should see yourself like this. You look amazing.”

You hear his zip come undone and you shiver involuntarily. A moment later he nudges his cock between your arsecheeks. You grip the edge of the desk and brace yourself, trying to resist rubbing your erection against the slick mahogany surface beneath you.

“I’m going to fuck you,” said Albus. “But you’re not allowed to come until I say so.”

You groan loudly and nod vigorously.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?” he teases.

“Yes. I mean,” you take a deep breath and say it again. “Yes, sir.”

“Very good,” says Albus appraisingly, leaning over to give the bottom of your back a soft, open-mouthed kiss. You sigh and close your eyes, enjoying the sensation of his plush, wet lips against your bare skin. Albus gets on his knees and begins teasing your hole with one finger, sliding it in and out of you slowly and carefully so as not to hurt you. As you begin to relax he grazes your prostate with the tip of his finger and you gasp; it feels like a shot of electricity shoots up the full length of your spine. You bite your lip hard to distract yourself from the build-up of intense pleasure pulsing and spreading through your whole body as Albus continues to finger you, working up to two fingers. By the time he slips the third finger inside of you, your legs are shaking badly, your fingers and toes curling as you begin to babble and curse incoherently. You’re struggling to keep your breaths slow and even now, and so is Albus; he’s panting as hard as you are, but his voice is quite steady when he speaks again, “Are you ready for me to fuck you now?”

“Merlin yes,” you groan. “Please.”

“Please, what?” he teases, rising to his feet.

“Please sir, fuck me already!” you cry, and Albus complies by thrusting his cock easily inside your slick, tight hole. A long, low moan escapes your lips as he fills you and _fuck it feels amazing_.

“Remember,” gasps Albus. “Only come when I give you permission to do so.”

“Yes sir,” you whimper, overwhelmed, shaking and begging for more. You cry out again as Albus begins to rock his hips backwards and forwards in deep, long strokes, torturously slow at first then faster until you’re arching and trembling beneath him. You’re so close to coming now, you don’t know if you’ll be able to hold off any longer. Albus holds your hips tightly and groans, “Fuck Scorp, I’m close.”

You push your hips back to meet his thrusts, desperate to feel him come inside of you. Albus reaches under you and grips your cock tight in his fist and begins to pump you furiously, “Ah fuckfuckfuck, come for me now!”

Your whole body tenses and your back arches as you climax. Screaming out in relief at the powerful orgasm that washes over you, a deeper, aching pleasure sweeps through you as you hear Albus’ strangled cry and his legs buckle. He slumps down on top of you, his body hot and slick from exertion. You enjoy the feeling of his weight on top of you as he hugs you tightly, one arm wrapped around your waist.

“Fuck me,” he whimpers.

“I might need a minute before I can do that,” you croak. Albus laughs and kisses the back of your neck before collapsing into the seat behind him.

Still panting heavily he gasps, “Merlin, why have we never done this before now?”

You roll onto your back and lie spread-eagle across the desk, trying to catch your own breath, “Dunno. But I definitely think we should do it again.”

“Tonight you mean?” asks Albus uncertainly. You laugh and shake your head.

“No, you’ve well and truly fucked my brains out tonight. I’m going to need a few hours to recover. And sleep. And food. Fuck, I’m hungry, now.”

“Yeah, me too,” agrees Albus, taking your hand into his own and tugging at you gently. With great force of will you pull yourself upright and off of the desk, slipping comfortably onto Albus’ lap instead. Albus wraps his arms around you and holds you close, resting his head against your chest, “How’s your arse feeling?”

“It’s fine,” you laugh gently. “Thank you for this. It’s just what I needed.”

“My pleasure,” smiles Albus and kisses you gently. He looks into your face with a mischievous glint in his eye, “We’ve still got a couple more days before this reunion wraps up. Fancy coming back tomorrow night?”

“Definitely,” you kiss him back and pat him on the arse. “But tomorrow I get to fuck you.”

Albus’ eyes light up and he grins, “That’s a deal.”

  
  


_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_

__  



	14. Silken Pubes and Many Towels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

It is only when you reach the door to the Prefects’ bathroom that you realise a password is needed to enter.

“Shoot,” you say to yourself, scrubbing at the back of your head. It feels like a sign. A sign that you should do as the painted facsimile of the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts has ever seen has requested, and go down to the dungeons after all.

Although, by that same logic… it was the painted facsimile of Cedric Diggory that suggested you check out that new Jacuzzi, and Cedric was one of the greatest _students_ Hogwarts has ever seen. And didn’t the real-world Dumbledore love his students and believe they should be heralded and respected? Really, you will be doing a great disservice to both Dumbledore and Cedric if you do not work out this password and get your arse into that glorious bathtub right now.

Praising yourself for your flawless logic, you turn back to the bathroom door. You remember hearing your House Prefects mention one or two past passwords to this room while you were a student. _Pine Fresh_ was one. _Citrus Zest_ was another. You also recall hearing _Vanilla Bean, Spiced Orange_ and _Lavender_. You would have to be pretty thick not to notice that these passwords have a theme.

“Fragrances… okay…” you murmur. You have some knowledge of perfumes and essential oils. Potions was never your strongest subject, but you do remember bits and bobs. Also, scented candles have always been a solid winner on your mother’s birthday.

“Bergamot?” you say, tentatively.

The door remains locked, but the handle, you notice, feels a little warmer. You are hardly an expert on magical buildings, but it feels like the door is telling you that you are on the right track.

“Alright… Eucalyptus! Peppermint! Chamomile! Erm...Jasmine! Lemongrass!”

You carry on for several minutes, growing increasingly frustrated as you draw closer to the end of your limited knowledge of Things that Smell Nice.

“Nutmeg! Neroli! Tangerine! Ginger! Marjoram!”

Suddenly the door handle gives way and you all but fall into the bathroom.

“ _Marjoram_? Really?” you ask the door. “I hope this place offers other fragrances, because I do not want to leave here smelling of chicken stuffing.”

The door, to its credit, does not answer you.

As you look around the spacious room you have to admit that Hogwarts treats its Prefects well. The big bathtub in the centre looks just like an unfilled swimming pool. The neat row of shower stalls along the back wall are all nicely enclosed and come with their own changing area. Next to the showers is a bench, upon which stacks of fluffy white towels are neatly folded and begging to be utilised. Next to the enormous pool-bath is another bench with identical stacks of fluffy white towels. Finally, around the corner, where the state-of-the-art Jacuzzi is installed, is yet another fluffy white towel-adorned bench.

“Blimey,” you murmur. You wish the standard bathrooms came with half this amount of towels. You cannot help but wonder just how wet people tend to get in this bathroom.

You turn on the taps, remove your robes, grab three of the fluffy white towels (because if they are there, you might as well use them), and step into the rapidly filling Jacuzzi. The water temperature is perfect and you notice a row of smaller taps that dispel water infused with different essential oils. Marjoram, to whatever the opposite of ‘a complete surprise’ is to you, is not one of the options. After some deliberation, you turn on the taps labelled ‘Sandalwood’ and ‘Clove’ and let them run until the bath is full. You then take a seat, activate the Jacuzzi jets, close your eyes, and inhale the spicy, wooden scents.

You are not sure how long you stay there, thinking of nothing in particular as the forceful streams of water massage your back, but a loud noise to your left startles you sharply out of your relaxed state. You turn so quickly that you feel your neck crack.

“Oh, bollocks!”

The noise is coming from a large and, until recently, empty portrait on the wall. Now almost half of the portrait is filled by the tall, pale form of Severus Snape righting a chair he has presumably just knocked over. Unfortunately, he appears to be just as irate as when you last saw him. Even more unfortunately, he is also just as naked as when you last saw him.

If you were a calmer, more collected person, you might be able to sneak out of the Jacuzzi without drawing attention to yourself. However, you are neither calm nor collected at the best of times, and you certainly are not now. So instead, what you do is yell out “Bloody hell!”

“What the—!” Portrait-Snape whirls around, and now you can see absolutely all of him. “What the bloody hell are YOU doing here?!”

“Cedric Diggory said I should give the new Jacuzzi a try,” you explain. “There’s nothing wrong or creepy about that. Coming into a bathroom unannounced and without any clothes on, on the other hand…”

“Young man, I am a painted portrait, and I can do whatever I want within this castle,” Snape replies with an air of dignity far higher than what you feel makes sense, given the circumstances. “It also just so happens that this is my other primary portrait.”

You cannot quite believe your ears. “Seriously? Of all the places in this castle to have a portrait, you went for the wall of a bathroom, directly facing a Jacuzzi?”

“I chose this location because it is quiet and relatively solitary. The Jacuzzi was not there when I was first installed.”

“But it’s here now! And by the looks of it, you have free reign to come in here and watch while a Prefect… an often UNDERAGE Prefect, is having a bath. I don’t know how well you know your law, Professor, but there is this little thing called CONSENT, and it’s pretty important. Underage people cannot give consent, and I am not giving you consent right now.”

Snape folds his arms slowly, pursing his lips and considering you with an interest you never saw the real version of him give you. You do not know what to think… other than that you really, REALLY wish he would put some trousers on. You have never seen anything so… silken… before, and it is more than a little disturbing.

“I must say, you have grown up significantly since your school years,” Snape eventually says. “I am dangerously close to being impressed.”

“Er,” you say. “Right. Well, now that this Jacuzzi experience has been ruined, I am going to go to the swimming pool bath over there. I will be telling the Headmaster to move this portrait tomorrow.”

“Very well,” said the professor. “If it is any consolation, I make it a point to exit this portrait whenever somebody enters the bathroom. I would not be in here now, if you had not insisted on conversing. I have historically preferred to be on the receiving end of covert voyeurism in this bathroom.”

You frown at him. “Did somebody watch you bathe in here, sir?”

“Indeed.” Snape’s painted eyes seem to glaze over and you think you can just about see the corner of his mouth turning, as if to smile. “It ended up being a night of mutual worship.”

You decide that you neither want nor need any further details, and you pull one of the fluffy towels toward you as you bid the Professor a good evening. Snape huffs and leaves the portrait.

You wrap the towel around yourself and pad over to the edge of the swimming pool bath. It is then that you see something that you had not registered when you first came in here: a plant, nestled in a bed of soil and water, sitting by the window.

“What’s this?” you murmur, stepping closer.

_If you recognise the plant,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 15](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33735618)._  


_If you do not recognise the plant,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 16](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33735681)._


	15. Schlongbottom Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

As you approach the windowsill, you recognise the water plant immediately as gillyweed; its emerald green, tentacle-like leaves are ripe for the picking and you decide to take a sample. You summon a small set of shears and two glass jars from your robes that you always keep to hand in case opportunities like this arise. Snipping a few of the rubbery leaves and roots, you take note that the Prefect’s bathroom—low lighting, high humidity and warm temperatures—is the perfect conditions for such a rare plant to flourish. Hopefully with this sample you’ll be able to grow your own gillyweed plant at home.

Slipping the jars and shears back into your robes, you turn your attention back to the reason you came to the Prefect’s bathroom in the first place. Hurrying over to the Jacuzzi, you pause and check Snape’s portrait is well and truly vacant.

“Professor?” you call out tentatively.

You wait a few moments, but Snape doesn’t reappear. Confident that you well and truly have the bathroom to yourself, you slip back under the water, sighing as the hot water licks against your skin.

You sit in the centre of the Jacuzzi and let your feet float to the surface of the water, admiring the beautiful stained-glass window on the opposite wall where a mermaid lies dozing on a rock. You are so relaxed that you begin to drift off yourself and don’t hear someone else coming into the room. You only stir from your half-slumber when you hear someone say your name.

“Neville?”

Your eyes snap open and you see a beautiful woman standing before you in nothing but a large, fluffy white bathrobe. She looks like a renaissance goddess with her long, deep red hair plaited down her back, alabaster skin and blue, almond-shaped eyes. It takes a few moments before you recognise her.

“Susan?” you ask surprised. “Susan Bones?”

She nods and smiles sweetly, “I didn’t think anyone else would be in here at this time of night. Sorry for interrupting you.”

“You’re not interrupting me,” you assure her. “If you’d rather have some privacy I can come back later—”

“Oh, don’t leave on my account,” she insists. “It’s nice to see you again Neville, it’s been a long time.”

“Yeah, it has,” you reply slowly. You are suddenly very aware of the fact that you are naked in the Jacuzzi. Susan seems to have noticed this too and she glances into the water with a slight smirk.

“The water looks very inviting. May I join you?” she asks. You quickly nod, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

“Sure. The water’s a nice temperature at the moment.”

“I can see that, ” she notes lightly. She peels off her bathrobes and they drop to the floor in a pile at her feet, and you can’t help but stare as Susan Bones—Hufflepuff, member of Dumbledore’s Army, your old school mate—now stands naked before you and _my_ _god, she looks fantastic_.

Susan gives you a shy smile before stepping into the water, her body disappearing under the multi-coloured bubbles. You struggle to avert your gaze from the ample mound of her breasts floating in the water, so you stare hazily into her large, blue eyes.

“So,” you begin, your voice slightly higher-pitched than you intended. “Are you enjoying being back at Hogwarts?”

“Oh yes,” she nods. “It’s nice catching up with old friends again. I saw Cedric’s portrait earlier; he was the one who suggested I check out the Prefect’s Bathroom. He told me that they installed the Jacuzzi recently.”

“Did he now?” you ask interestedly, now suspecting that it was no accident that you and Susan should meet here after all. Clearly some Hufflepuffs have a Slytherin streak in them.

Susan continues, “I never got the chance to see the Prefect’s Bathroom when I was a student, so I thought I’d take advantage of the opportunity when it arose. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It sure is,” you agree with a smile, your thoughts solely on the woman before you.

“So how have you been since you left Hogwarts?” she asks.

You shrug, “Been well enough.”

“I heard you became an Auror after we left school,” she inquires.

You nod, “Yeah, I was for a couple years. Then I came back here to teach Herbology for a few years before going on sabbatical. I plan on returning to teaching once I’ve completed my research. But once I received my invitation for the reunion, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to return early, even if only for a few days.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” she admits, carefully pulling her long braid apart. “You were one of the people I was most hoping to see here again this weekend.”

“I was?” you ask, surprised.

Susan smiles, “I always got on well with you, Neville. I’m sorry we never stayed in touch after we left school.”

“Yeah, me too,” you reply sadly. You always had a soft spot for Susan in your school days, but you never thought she took much notice of you. Seems that youth really is wasted on the young.

“So what about you?” you ask, carefully watching her slender fingers tease apart her soft curls. “What have you been doing since we graduated?”

Susan shrugs, “Got a Ministry job. Got married, had a couple of kids.”

“Who did you marry?” you ask.

“Jason Chambers,” she replies.

“Who?” you ask, but she waves her hand dismissively. “Nobody you know. Anyway, we got divorced a few years back, the kids grew up, and now I’m enjoying having a little more free time to myself again.”

She shakes out the long mane of hair and it cascades down her chest and into the water. You think she looks like the mermaid in the stained-glass window and are glad that there are a lot of bubbles in the Jacuzzi to save you from revealing your growing embarrassment.

“Well I’ve always been married to my work. No kids. Just me and my plants,” you laugh weakly.

Susan grins more broadly, “Yes, you were always a dab hand at Herbology. My girls said you were an excellent teacher too, always kind and fair to everyone.”

You give her a bashful smile, “I only treat people as well as I expect to be treated in return.”

Susan nods, then says with a mischievous glint in her eye, “Apparently you had a reputation amongst the students as being a bit of a heartthrob.”

You give an embarrassed laugh and shake your head, “I find that hard to believe!”

“Oh, but you do,” she argues. “I was told they had a nickname for you as well.”

“Merlin, what was it?” you ask with a rising feeling a dread.

“Professor Schlongbottom,” she smirks delightedly, then glances at your crotch. “I can see why.”

You cough and cross your legs, trying to hide your erection. Susan notices this and says in a husky voice, “Professor Schlong—sorry, Neville—I have a confession to make.”

Susan lowers her gaze and admits, “I had the biggest crush on you in school.”

“Really?” you ask in disbelief. “But you were so…popular.”

Susan laughs and you ask, “When did you have a crush on me? I never would have guessed.”

She shrugs, “Started in our fifth year, after getting to know you better during our DA meetings. By our sixth year, I was crazy about you.”

“But you never said anything,” you say, crestfallen at the missed opportunity.

Susan nods sadly, “Well in our last year, so many other things were going on—what with Luna’s abduction, Ginny on the run and we both had the Carrows to contend with—romance wasn’t high on the agenda. Then you didn’t come back to repeat your seventh year like a few of the others and myself did. People just lose touch, don’t they? They live their lives, they move on.”  

You swallow hard, mustering your Gryffindor bravery, “I have a bit of a confession to make, too.”

“Oh?” she raises her eyebrows in surprise.

You nod, “I uh….I always had a bit of a crush on you, too … when we were at school, I mean.”

“No kidding,” says Susan with interest. She sighs and rests her head back on the edge of the Jacuzzi. “How different things might have been if there hadn’t been a war going on, hmm?”

“I dunno,” you reply with a shrug. “I was a nervous wreck back then. I probably wouldn’t have told you, anyway.”

“Well…” she replies slowly, edging closer to you. “This _is_ a reunion. We could always get properly reunited now.”

“With each other?” you ask, feeling your heart beat hard in your chest. Susan looks around the bathroom.

“I don’t see anybody else here,” Susan gently rests her hands on your shoulders and you feel her breasts graze against your chest. You’re trying with increasing difficulty to concentrate on the words coming out of her mouth. “Neville, we’ve already spent too many years wondering about the ‘what ifs’. I’m tired of wondering—I want to know.”

“Know what?” you ask. You know you’re sounding obtuse, but your brain seems to have jarred, all the blood in your body rushing south. Susan leans forward so her mouth is hovering over yours, her hot breath making your lips tingle.

“I want to know what I’ve been missing out on all these years.”

You nod breathlessly and brush your lips against hers.

“So do I,” you reply roughly and press your lips more firmly together.

You’re relieved that your awkward teenage years are far behind you both. Susan at seventeen had been beautiful, but at forty-five she is simply breathtaking—all curves and soft, pale skin and beautiful red hair cascading down her body in a fiery waterfall.

And her eyes—she looks at you no longer a shy girl with reservations, but as someone who is comfortable in her own skin. Clearly she’s a woman who knows exactly what she wants. And she wants you. And you are all too willing to give her anything she asks of you tonight.

Susan straddles your hips and your kiss becomes more heated as her pelvis brushes against your aching erection. Running your hands through her hair, you drag your kisses down the column of her throat, peppering tongue-heavy kisses against her chest. Susan moans and traces a hand down your abdomen and takes your cock in her hand. Your breath catches as she begins pumping you with her fist, slowly at first but quickly building up the pace. You’re lost in the wonderful sensations, thrusting your hips upwards into Susan’s tight grip while you graze your thumbs over her pink nipples, teasing them until they’re taut. You give each of them a slight pinch that makes Susan gasp before gently brushing your lips against each of them in turn, tracing hot breaths along her cool skin causing goosebumps to erupt.

Suddenly Susan releases your cock from her grasp and you groan in disappointment, but she grins mischievously at you and asks, “How about we up the ante a little?”

She rises out of the Jacuzzi and walks over to the edge of the swimming pool and dives in, momentarily disappearing under the rippling water before her head breaks through the surface, sodding wet and panting. You scramble out of the Jacuzzi after her then pause.

“Hold on—I have an idea,” you say, rummaging through your robe pockets and pulling out one of the small jars containing the gillyweed leaves. Susan looks at it curiously for a moment then her eyes widen.

“Gillyweed?” she asks.

You shrug and reply, “I figure it might be fun to try this out in the pool. Only if you fancy it.”

“Definitely,” she grins broadly, swimming towards you. You sit at the edge of the pool, your feet under the warm water as you unscrew the jar with slightly shaking hands. Susan swims between your legs with an expectant look, gently tracing her fingers up your legs towards your crotch. You put some of the gillyweed in her mouth and she swallows it. You go to swallow your own but she stops you by putting a finger over your lips, “Not yet. Let me try something first.”

Pulling you into the water, you stand waist deep in the pool. She kisses you before disappearing under the water again and a moment later you gasp as you feel warm lips wrap around your cock.

“Oh fuck. Wow,” you breathe as Susan’s tongue licks up your cock, toying with the slit. You want to buck into her mouth, but you resist the temptation, leaning back against the smooth, cool tiles of the pool to stop yourself.

Your whimpers and moans reverberate against the walls between the sounds of the water splashing around you. Susan’s tongue laps the full length of your cock, up and down, then down towards your balls, lower to your perineum, lower…

“Woah!” you cry out and jerk involuntarily as Susan’s tongue begins to lap at your arse. Trust the reserved-looking ones to be kinky. You try to grip onto the edge of the pool but your hands are too slippery to get a firm enough grip. The feeling is slightly alarming at first—you’ve never had this done before—but once you get over the initial shock it isn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. Not unpleasant at all in fact, especially when Susan starts to pump your cock to the same rhythm as her soft tongue presses into your hole.

Your panting grows harder as you feel your orgasm approaching, so you quickly shove the gillyweed into your mouth, chew and swallow hard, then squeeze Susan’s shoulder to make her stop. Struggling to breathe, you quickly sink and take a deep breath of water before becoming mesmerised by the sight before you: Susan looks like a Siren, her hair floating all around her like a slow-moving flame. She smiles serenely at you, but her eyes have a come-fuck-me glint in them and you are more than happy to oblige. You swim forward and kiss her hard, her soft locks surrounding you both, caressing your cheeks and arms.

You press Susan’s body against the side of the pool, holding her in place, and you sink deeper underwater until your knees hit the tiled bottom. You slowly run your hands up her inner thighs, towards the soft red curls between her legs, then gently graze her clit with the tips of your fingers and you feel her shiver involuntarily. Grasping her hips, you feel a pang of desire as you lean forwards and brush your lips and tongue against the soft bud between her velvety folds.

You oscillate between gently sucking her clit between your lips and circling the tip of your tongue around it until you feel her hips begin to buck against your face and her hands thread through your hair. Then you carefully insert a finger inside her, sliding easily in and out in a slow, steady rhythm while you continue to lick and suck her sensitive spot. You know you’re doing it right when you feel her fingernails dig into your shoulders and she rolls her hips more eagerly into your face, inviting you to press your tongue in further.

As Susan’s movements become more erratic, you moan loudly and cup her arse in your large hands, pulling her closer, rhythmically tracing your lips and tongue over her clit until she’s thrusting into your face with her pussy and _fuck_ , you want her to do it, you want to feel her come while she face-fucks you. Your cock’s achingly hard—you  know it wouldn’t take more than a few strokes for you to come too—but you hold off, determined to feel Susan come first.

You feel Susan’s thighs clench tightly around your face and her whole body shivers, then stills. Then her legs give way and she floats to the bottom of the pool alongside you, a sleepy, post-orgasmic expression on her face. She wraps her arms around your waist and kisses you and you brush your erection against her soft, flat belly.

Susan lies back on the pool floor, pulling you on top of her as you continue to kiss and caress one another. She wraps her legs tightly around your waist and, with a gentle thrust, you push yourself deep inside of her. The soft warmth that envelopes your cock makes you gasp, but of course you make no sound.

Every nerve ending in your body explodes with the feeling of the warm water all around your body; Susan’s soft, supple skin pressed against you; the intense heat of her silky smooth walls surrounding your cock; and her soft curls splayed out all around her like a halo of red fire cocooning you in a beautiful sea of red. You know you won’t be able to hold out for much longer.

Your motions are slow and smooth in the water as you slip easily in and out of her, running your hands all over her body then grasping her round hips tightly, increasing your pace. Susan quivers underneath you and begins thrusting down on your cock, wanting you to fuck her deeper, faster. You brush her hair out of the way, better to see her eyes as she comes undone and _oh_ , the expression on her face—her eyes glaze over as her pupils dilate and her lips part in a silent cry. The feel of her inner walls pulsing against your throbbing cock ... it’s all too much for you to hold on any longer and soon you’re tumbling over the edge along with her. You feel your chest constrict and the hot ache in your groin spreads outwards, up your spine to the tips of your toes, a powerful orgasm thrusting through your body like a bolt of lightning.

As the euphoric moment subsides, you rest your head on her shoulder, spent and tranquil. Suddenly, your chest constricts painfully. You realise you can’t breathe and it looks like Susan can’t breathe underwater anymore either. The effects of the gillyweed must be wearing off, so you both kick hard and break through the surface of the water with a loud gasp, air filling your lungs again.

“Wow,” she gasps paddling over to you. “Seems like I’ve been missing out on quite a lot.”

Susan pulls you in for another kiss—a slow, languid one—and you wrap your arms around her and pull her close, trying to convey in a single kiss just how amazing this experience has been for you. She moans contentedly and you feel it reverberate through your mouth and down your body. Susan breaks your kiss and rests her forehead against yours.

“That was amazing,” you sigh.

Susan gives you a small sigh of agreement in return, kisses your cheek, then breaks away, heading for the ladder to exit the pool. Following close behind, you ascend the ladder and notice that your body feels much heavier out of the water. You roughly spell yourself dry and pull your robes over your still-damp body while Susan pulls her fluffy white housecoat around herself and takes your hand in her own.

“You know,” she says slowly. “This is a two day event…”

You cup her warm cheek in your palm and kiss her lightly and ask, “Would you like to come back to my room tonight? We can just talk or…do more of this. Whatever you like.”

Susan lowers her gaze and smiles, looking suddenly bashful. She nods and says, “I’d like that, very much.”

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” you reply, relieved that this once-in-a-lifetime encounter isn’t yet over.

You both head for the exit when you hear someone giggle behind you. You glance over your shoulder and you see Cedric in the stained-glass window with the mermaid sitting on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck. He gives you a little wave and a wink which you return—looks like you’re not the only one with a night of fun ahead. You leave hand in hand with Susan, imagining all the other ways you can get reacquainted with one another.

  


_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_  



	16. The Sexiness of Sneezing Plants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

You rack your brain for several moments as you turn on the pool taps, trying to recall the name of that plant from the Herbology lessons of yore. But despite your best efforts, the most you can discern is that it looks like some sort of fern.

 _Where’s Neville when you need him_ , you think to yourself. You know that you would only have to tell your herbologist friend about the plant’s pale blue, pink-edged flowers and its pleasant scent of ylang ylang and sandalwood, and he’d instantly know what it is.

You would not normally be so bothered about it. You would not normally be bothered at all, truth be told. If somebody asked you to rank every possible thing in order of how interesting they are to you, ‘plants’ would rank somewhere between ‘the architecture of office buildings’ and ‘Muggle nature documentaries’. But something about this plant grabs your attention.

You shake yourself and turn around, walking back to the edge of the swimming pool/bath. Get a grip, you tell yourself, as you remove your towel and step into the water. The pleasing warmth of it removes all thoughts of hypnotic plants from your mind. You find a stone step and take a seat, thinking that you will now, finally, get to relax.

“Marjoram!”

Your groan expands into a shout, such is the extent of your frustration. You swim to the edge of the pool as the door to the bathroom opens.

“Oi! Shove off! Bathroom’s occupied!”

“Then maybe you should vacate, so somebody else can have a turn,” answers a voice that is both female and nauseatingly familiar to you. To your continued discomfort, the owner of said voice chooses to completely ignore your request and enters the room. Her eyes widen with surprise at the sight of you.

“Ronald Weasley? Since when have you known how to bathe?”

You grimace, grateful that you are positioned such that she can only see your head and torso, because Merlin forbid this woman get a glimpse of your ‘Beater’s bat ‘n’ Bludgers’, as Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George like to call them.

“Pansy Parkinson,” you finally say. “I see that you are as funny as always.”

“I am known for my wit,” Parkinson says, placing her hand on one dressing-gown-adorned hip. “However, I could not be more serious right now. At what point within the last twenty years did you discover the benefits of washing, and why did you choose tonight, of all nights, to implement all you have learned?”

You choose to ignore her continued jabs at your state of hygiene (an action that you feel shows gargantuan levels of maturity on your part). “If you must know, the painting of Cedric Diggory suggested I try out the new Jacuzzi over there. Then the Snape painting came along and ruined any chance I might have had of relaxing in there, so I came here instead. Why are you here?”

“Nostalgia,” Parkinson answers. “I loved this bathroom when I was a student. I particularly enjoyed coming here, at night, when nobody else was in, so I could bathe without having to worry about laying my eyes upon naked redheads.”

“And now you have ruined any chance I might have had of relaxing in here.” Rolling your eyes, you point at the mystery plant. “Go and look at that plant while I get out, and so help me Merlin if you try to sneak a peek.”

“Did you not get my distaste for looking at naked redheads?” Pansy asks, striding towards the plant. “I think I’d rather look down the business end of a blast-ended skrewt.”

“Well, I can hardly take offence at that. Hagrid tells me that if you look at that part of a blast-ended skrewt for long enough, you see a rainbow.”

You cannot quite decipher the sound Parkinson makes in response, but you would be prepared to bet a Sickle or two that there was some amusement there.

Once you are certain that she has turned completely away from you, you climb out of the pool, grab a fresh towel, and dry yourself off. You sling on a dressing gown, bundle up your clothes, and are just about to leave when Parkinson speaks up.

“Hey, Weasley?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you have a look at this?”

You consider telling her to bugger off, but she happens to be indicating the curious plant. Perhaps she can answer your earlier question about it? At any rate, you find yourself striding towards her without further comment.

Parkinson is stroking the delicate petals of a flower with one finger. As she does this, the flower’s pink edges darken in colour, almost as if it is blushing.

“Do you know what this plant is?” you ask.

“No,” Parkinson answers, not turning away from the flower. “It smells nice, though. And I think this flower likes me.”

“Looks like it,” you murmur, distracted. Something about the flower is drawing you in. It does smell very nice, as Parkinson says, and it is a pretty colour, but there is something else about it…

Suddenly, the flower sneezes out a cloud of golden pollen. You and Parkinson each get a faceful, and you both turn away to cough violently and rub the itchiness out of your eyes.

“Bloody plant’s a menace!” you say, once you have managed to stop coughing long enough to straighten up.

“For once, I agree with you,” Parkinson replies.

You huff in amusement and look over at her. Your eyes meet, and the room suddenly feels far too hot. You itch to strip off your dressing gown and dive back into the rapidly cooling water, but Parkinson’s eyes pin you to the spot. You notice things about her that you haven’t noticed before. Her hair is thick, shiny, and has a slight wave to it. Her skin has the slightly sunkissed look of somebody who has been enjoying the late May sunshine. Her dressing gown has opened a little at the front, revealing a soft swell of cleavage. As you notice each of these things, the hot discomfort of the room intensifies.

You suddenly remember exactly what this plant is, and recall Neville telling you, in vivid detail, what it did. Apparently his and Luna's friendship had improved in leaps and bounds that day.

Before you have any chance of telling Parkinson what this plant does, she closes the space between you and pushes you—hard—against the bathroom wall. She draws herself up to you and rests her hands on your shoulders.

“Wait,” you say, because you aren't thick. You have seen other people look at you that way before. To be more precise, you've seen other people look at your more attractive and sexually available friends and family members that way before. “The plant. It—”

“Lowers your inhibitions,” Parkinson finishes for you. “I figured. My inhibitions feel pretty lowered right now.”

Her hands remain on your shoulders, to your increasing confusion.

“You know,” she continues. “It’s kind of interesting. Before breathing in that pollen, the idea of even touching you seemed abhorrent. But now…”

Her hands trail down your torso, and you just barely suppress a shiver.

“Now?” you prompt.

She smirks. “Now I’m thinking that I've never shagged a Gryffindor before, and I’d rather like to see what it’s like. Would you care to join me?”

You consider it. On the one hand, this was Parkinson; a woman who you have spent a not-inconsiderable number of years disliking. On the other hand, she is offering you a shag, and it has been a while. It is clearly a one-time, no-strings-attached kind of deal, which suits you perfectly. Plus, you’d be lying if you said she wasn’t kind of fit these days.

It is kind of a no brainer, really.

“Alright then,” you say.

“Grand,” Parkinson answers, before pressing her mouth against yours.

The kiss is explosive, erratic, and unlike any kiss you’ve experienced before. As you open your mouth and return the kiss your childhood enemy is bestowing upon you with vigour, your brain weakly argues that this might not be the greatest idea ever. When Parkinson’s lips leave yours and start to travel down your chin, your neck, and your shoulder, you lose whatever ability you might have had to pay your brain any attention.

You start to walk both of you forward, one hand on Parkinson’s hip, the other pulling loose the tie to her dressing gown. As soon as you feel the knot coming undone in your fingers, she is yanking the gown off and helping you out of yours. You throw the garment to the ground and look back to see her jumping into the pool.

She emerges a couple of seconds later, her sopping wet hair adhering to her head. She offers you a sly smile before diving back under the water. You catch a glimpse of her backside as she goes, and the sight of that achingly perfect posterior sends a wave of lust over you that goes straight to your cock.

You follow her into the pool, and as you rise back to the surface you see her sitting on one of the stone steps. You can see her shoulders, her small, pert breasts, and her perfectly flat, lightly tanned stomach before the water impedes your view. How have you never noticed how fucking _hot_ Pansy Parkinson is before now?

You swim up to her, capturing her mouth with yours again as her hands slide up to your jaw. You explore her with your hands, feeling the hard bumps of her collarbone, the smooth skin of her shoulders, the soft swell of her breasts. It is not long before your cock is painfully hard and in need of attention.

As if she has read your mind, Parkinson reaches between you and closes her hand around your aching member. She moves her hand up, then down, and you let out a loud groan as jolts of pleasure rush through you. So intense is the feeling that you have to stop her after only half a dozen or so strokes, because you can feel how close you are to coming and you don’t want to shoot your load anywhere other than inside her.

She seems to get the message, because she removes her hand, leans back onto her elbows, and spreads her legs wide.

You wrap your hands around her waist, position yourself at her entrance, and raise an eyebrow at her. She understands what you are asking, and nods, just once.

And then you enter her.

You take it slow at first, pushing in little by little, until you cannot get any further in. She lets out a sigh, and you cannot help but be a bit smug when you see the look of contentment on her face. As her legs wrap around you, you start to move your hips in a steady rhythm.

“Mmm,” she says, closing her eyes and tipping her head back, which gives you a delightful view of her shapely breasts and delicate throat. She makes little noise at first, meeting your movements with a silent, concentrated enthusiasm. As you speed up, she answers each of your inward thrusts with a little whimper of approval, which quickly become moans of increasing volume. Then she is reaching desperately for you, so she can kiss you while her heels dig into your buttocks, encouraging you to go faster, faster.

“Oh, Merlin!” she shrieks, clutching the hair at the nape of your neck. “I’m close! I’m coming! I’m… yes! Yes!”

“Yes!” you agree, giving one last thrust before the spasming of her inner walls tips you over the edge as well.

After you have both ridden out the last delicious waves of your orgasms, you pull gently out of her and take a seat on the stone step. She shifts slightly to give you enough room.

You sit there for a few moments. The silence, while not exactly comfortable, is not entirely unpleasant, either.

“So,” you say, when the silence eventually becomes a bit too much for you. “That’s one way to improve inter-house relations.”

Parkinson lets out a shout of laughter, and you have a feeling that everything is going to be alright.

 

_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_


	17. The Undapanty Raid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

You've had a long day.  Ever since your first trip to platform 9 3/4, travelling has always been tiring.   _Hogwarts has prefects and faculty_ , you think to yourself as you absentmindedly mutter the passphrase for your house's common room, _for this kind of thi_ - **CRASH!**

 _No_ , you reaffirm your stance as you pass into the sleeping areas and get to your bed for the night, _I am going to get some long deserved sleep_.  “Revertere Vestio” you mutter quietly.  Your travelling robes fall off you into an undignified heap before crawling into your suitcase and folding themselves up.  You pause before pulling back the covers.  All you hear is the soft inhale and exhale of your housemates.  _Just like old times_ , you muse, as you kick off your slippers and get settled in.  You close your eyes and wait for sleep to take you.

But sleep does not come.  You toss and turn.  It's been some time before you had to sleep on these old mattresses, broken-in from generations of student's bodies.  Lumps where there should not be and sags where you most need support. _Was I hexed?_ you ponder, smirking slightly.  But then you think back to the previous day; Hogsmeade was bustling with activity, it would be easy for anyone to fling a delayed hex amid the activity.   _Ok, but WAS I hexed?_ you consider more seriously this time.

 **BANG - CRASH - CLATTErrrrr**.  Your eyes fly open and fight against the darkness. You sit up, and look left, right, forward, and behind. Rows and rows of beds, no sign of — **Ziiipppppp. Rustle, rustle, rustle.** You hear a mild commotion near one of the beds nearest the door down to the common room. Finally adjusting to the light, you see scraps of fabric flung into the air by the unseen alumni. Someone must have gotten too pissed at Hogsmeade and had to call it an early night. _I don't ever remember being that drunk. But I suppose I wouldn't…_

The fabric shower stops, the airborne textiles settling on nearby beds or the floor. **Ziiipppppp. Rustle, rustle, rustle.** Another flurry of fabric, this time a bed closer to yours. You did not hear footsteps. You still haven't seen the culprit. Perhaps not a drunk alumni after all. You can see the fabric being thrown is of similar size and shape. _Not random clothes, nor shreds of bed linens._ Realization strikes, but it takes a moment to fully accept what you see. _Undapants?! Did any of Professor Hagrid’s lessons include an undapants thief?_ The flurry stops, and you catch a brief scent of an herb, but cannot place it.

More silence, and you can do nothing but wait for the next undapants shower. You hear the snaps on your own bag opening. With reflexes you thought you had lost, you dig into your bag’s side pocket to pull out your wand. _“Lumos”_ you whisper. Just the tip of your wand illuminates, and you see your bag, opened. You see two different green leaves, floating in the air. You see an otherwise empty space in front of you. The movement stops. Something is there, but invisible. Frustrated, you remember back to a Care of Magical Creatures class during your fourth year. Since invisibility can result from a variety of sources, it is difficult to dispel or suppress. But sometimes victory comes from changing the rules.

 _“Viridi Venti.”_ You can't make the interloper visible, but you can make the air around him green. You see a 'bubble’ in the green air, and recognize the shape as the top half of Peeves, partially protruding from the floor. Peeves looks down at his own hands.

He looks directly at you and blows a raspberry, _Pbbbbtttt_ , but his loss of stealth is a momentary concern and he begins rummaging through your bags. He reaches in with his right hand and starts flinging your undapants into the air. You reach out to smack him but he dashes out of the way with a maniacal laugh.

Resigned to your fate, you notice the leaves he holds tightly in his left hand. You see basil and parsley. Thinking back again, but this time to Herbology, you recall uses for these common herbs. Basil can help two people reach a decision, in business or in love. And parsley is often used to boost lust. _Oh, my._ You shift your gaze to Peeves just in time to see him with your stash of ginger — a general boosting herb, but particularly potent with love and attraction mixtures. This gives you a moment of pause. Professor Flitwick AND Peeves must have the same brand of mischief in mind tonight.

Having acquired his goal, Peeves stops flinging your undapants into the air. He turns to look at you again, offers a half wave, and a final raspberry, _Pbbbtttt_ , and turns and leaves in the direction of the common room. As he leaves the pocket of green air, you notice he has dropped his invisibility and is dressed, appropriately given that Hogwarts is a castle, like a jester. You survey the mess of your undapants, bothered more by the inconvenience than the loss of your ginger.

_If it's the principle of the matter and you want that ginger,_  
_follow Peeves towards[Chapter 18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33735876)._

_If you are more concerned about finally getting some sleep,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 27](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33736917)._


	18. Peeved at Peeves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

Throwing back your covers, you pull yourself out of bed, slipping your feet into your slippers because there’s nothing worse than walking barefoot on cold, damp stone, even if it is the middle of August.  Tiptoeing across the common room so as not to wake up any of the other slumbering reunion attendants, you slowly open the door leading to the stairs down to the common room.

 **CRREeeeeeaaaaakkkKkkkKKK.** The door lets out a protracted noise that seems shockingly loud in the otherwise quiet room and you freeze, hoping that nobody heard it.  Looking around the dormitory, you don’t hear any mumbling or see anyone stirring or looking out of their canopy-bed curtains and you breathe a sigh of relief.  Deciding the door can’t be trusted, instead of risking opening it further, you squeeze between the door and the jamb and then cast a quick _Muffliato_ at it before you turn down the stairs and head towards the sound of Peeves’ demented giggling.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you halt in surprise.  It looks like a litter of hyperactive Cruppies have torn through the common room.  The many chairs and couches scattered around the room have been ripped open and their stuffing has rained down all over the floor. The paintings hanging on the walls are askew, their occupants either having vacated to a safer canvas or grasping desperately to the frames, trying to stay upright and a chorus of their righteous indignation can be heard resonating around the room. Peeves’ location is not difficult to discern, as there is a suit of armour performing what appears to be a series of parkour moves around the room. You hate to admit it, but you’re actually a little impressed at his acrobatic feats.

“PEEVES! Give me back my things at once!” He’s just leapt up onto one of the wingback chairs and is in the process of tipping it over backwards with one foot pushing on the back when your shout causes him to stumble and fall forwards, but somehow he manages to turn it into a forward somersault and the suit of armour lands behind the chair with a loud clamour.

“TA DA!! Stuck the landing! And the crowd goes wild. AHHHH! AHHHH!” Peeves bows to the various corners of the room, sending kisses to his many imaginary supporters.

Stalking over to him, you reach up and rip the helmet of the suit off and you’re greeted with a brief flash of his impish grin before he takes a big inhale and proceeds to let out a _Ppppppbbbbbbbbbtttttttttttt_ raspberry that seems like it will never end.  Recoiling as your head is showered with spittle, you let go of the helmet to wipe at your face and Peeves takes the opportunity to slip out of the armour, leaving it to crash to the floor, right onto your foot.

“BLOODY HELL!” Forgetting your spittle-speckled face entirely, you grab your abused foot and hop towards one of the sofas, flopping down in an undignified sprawl and gingerly remove your slipper. Your toe is already starting to look swollen and bruised and you can feel it throbbing as if it has a heartbeat of its own.

“Peevesy is a Casanova, yes sir! He swept you right off your feet!” You reach forward and make a grab at his clothes, but before you can reach him, he winks out of existence and all you can hear is his demented giggle. Peeves lets out another cackle of laughter as you let out a frustrated growl. Finding your reaction extremely entertaining, Peeves skips around the room singing, “Be they witches or wizards or muggles or all three, Makes no difference because they’ll never catch me!”

Skipping up to the exit of the common room, Peeves pops back into visibility and you let out a disgusted yelp of surprise when you realize that he’s dropped his trousers and is mooning you. His laughter gradually fades as he exits the common room and heads off into the night, undoubtedly to torment some other poor victim.

You consider following him, but you just aren’t sure it’s worth it. Maybe it’s taking the cowardly way out, but at least right now you have three usable limbs—who knows how you’ll come out of it if you clash with him again…

Buying yourself some time, you take your wand out of its holster and take a mental tally of all the damage, then begin casting a bevy of spells to repair the damage. It takes about 10 minutes, but eventually the room has been returned to its previous state and the painting inhabitants gradually migrate back to their rightful frames.

A part of you wants to chase after Peeves and get a little revenge, but even as you consider it, your toe gives a particularly angry throb; it might be better to nip off to the kitchens and see if they have any ice for your toe...and besides, you are a little peckish.

_If you decide to pursue the pesky poltergeist,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 19](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33735981)._

_If you decide to nurse your wound and fill your belly,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 22](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33736437)._


	19. Edge of Erised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

Your thirst for vengeance outweighs the rumbling of your stomach. You clamber out of the portrait hole into the corridor and give chase after the pesky Poltergeist. Your foot throbs furiously, but you don’t let the pain dissuade you as you half-jog, half-limp through the labyrinth of corridors following Peeves’ maniacal laughter.

As you turn a corner, you catch sight of him entering one of the classrooms on the fourth floor. Gripping your wand tightly, you march forward with renewed determination—Peeves will rue the day he crossed you.

“Alohomora!” you cry and the classroom doors bursts open. You stride in with your wand drawn, ready for whatever Peeves throws at you. Scanning the room, you brandish your wand left and right in a defensive stance.

But Peeves is not there.

“Bugger!” you growl. He’s given you the slip _again_. Lowering your wand, you slump into the nearest chair and check your foot. It’s quite swollen, but not broken, thank Merlin. This is a relief to you, because you plan on putting said-foot up Peeves’ arse when you eventually get ahold of him. Struggling back to your feet you turn to leave the classroom to continue the search but pause when something in the corner of the room catches your eye.

A white dust sheet covers what appears to be a large canvas in the corner of the room. It’s so large you wonder how you didn’t see it immediately as you entered the room. You frown and approach it with mounting curiosity. _Surely someone wouldn’t have discarded one of the portraits here and forgotten about it?_ You peak behind the dust sheet and are surprised to find it isn’t a portrait at all, but a mirror. Pulling the dust sheet down you reveal a huge, ancient mirror. It has clawed feet and a gold frame inscribed with ornate lettering in a language that you don’t immediately recognise:

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_

You read the strange sentence a couple more times, trying to figure out what it says. Then, like the strike of a lightning bolt it comes to you.

“I show not your face but your heart’s desire,” you murmur, a triumphant grin spreading across your face. _Very clever_ , you muse. _But you’ll have to do better than that to outwit me_. Your eyes fall upon your own reflection in the mirror and you gasp. Someone is standing over your shoulder. You spin around to face them but are confused to find that you are still alone in the classroom. You glance back at the mirror—the person is still there, smiling serenely at you. You know this person—you know them very well. How are they in the mirror if they aren’t in the room?

Slowly you approach the mirror, trying to divine its power and meaning. The person steps closer to you and rests their hand on your shoulder. You place a hand where theirs should be but feel nothing. They whisper something into your ear, but of course no sound emits from their lips. Your eyes widen in shock as the person nibbles on your own reflection’s earlobe.

“Oh my,” you breath. The person in the mirror gives you a mischievous smile, steps in front of you and gets onto their knees. You gasp at what they do next.

“Oh _my_!” you exclaim again as the person pulls down your reflection’s trousers and proceeds to service you expertly and enthusiastically. You can’t tear your eyes away from what is happening in the mirror and although you can’t feel what’s happening, you are incredibly aroused by what you see. What you wouldn’t give to make this a reality.

Suddenly, inexplicably, the mirror begins to rise off of the ground, floating higher and higher until it brushes against the ceiling. You watch, confused, and then with fright, as Peeves reappears holding onto the sides of the frame, a malicious smirk spread across his impish face.

“Seven years bad luck if you smash a mirror!” he cries gleefully, then without warning he lets it go. You’re too shocked to react in time and watch with horror as the mirror crashes to the ground, shattering a million tiny pieces of glass in every direction. Peeves whoops with laughter, shows you his rear end again and zooms out of the classroom, veering left in the direction of the Astronomy Tower. You are too furious to immediately give chase—that mirror was obviously a priceless magical heirloom, one that you would have gladly spent an evening perusing over ( _for research purposes_ , you tell yourself).

You’re torn as to what you should do next—you’re still keen to get your hands on the Poltergeist and give him his long overdue comeuppance. But then again, chasing Peeves has gotten you nothing so far but a sore foot and a broken mirror. Maybe you should just head straight to the Headmistress’ Office and report Peeves to Professor McGonagall instead?

_To report Peeves,_  
_Apparate to the Headmistress’ Office in[Chapter 20.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33736176)_

_Continue your pursuit of Peeves and_  
_Apparate to the Astronomy Tower in[Chapter 21](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33736359)._  



	20. Moondance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

Deciding that the prospect of further abuse by Peeves is an unsavory one, you stalk out of the darkened classroom, a startled squeak leaving your lips as you collide with your handsome husband.

“Mols? Thank Merlin I've finally found you. Did you find hi—" Arthur stops mid-sentence as you wave his question off.

“Cheeky bastard escaped again. But not before breaking a priceless artifact,” you huff, colouring at the thought of what you'd witnessed before Peeves destroyed the mirror. Clearing your throat you continue, “Instead of wasting anymore time chasing that pesky poltergeist, I think we should just report him to Minerva directly.”

“That's probably for the best,” Arthur responds pragmatically, before leaning down to place a gentle kiss to the top of your head.  Taking your hand in his, your husband leads the way to the familiar hidden staircase, sparking a smile to split across your lips; this feels just like when you two shared prefect patrols in your glory days.

You can't help but giggle girlishly, as Arthur pulls you into the headmistress' office, grinning at you from over his shoulder with a twinkle in his eyes. A light flush bursts across your cheeks as you think back to what the now shattered mirror had shown you earlier in the evening; your husband in his younger years, face nestled between your thighs. Shaking yourself, your focus returns to your surroundings. Honestly, you have no idea what's gotten into him, or you for that matter.

“Oh, drat!” You exclaim, looking around and heaving an exasperated sigh. You'd brought Arthur along with you in search of justice, but as you stand in the empty office you realize Peeves may once again get off the hook scot-free.

“It would seem Minerva is still enjoying the festivities,” your husband murmurs astutely. Throwing a devilish wink over his shoulder, he grins and pulls you deeper into the headmistress's office.

“Arthur, what in the name of Merlin?!” you gasp. You tug gently on his hand, causing him to stop and turn, wrapping his arms around your waist. He begins to kiss your neck and you push against his shoulders.

“Arthur!” you yelp, “You're acting like a sex-crazed school boy! What would Minerva think?!”

He smiles at you, causing a tug in your stomach as familiar to you as your own face; which no doubt is greatly responsible for the maddening and perfect lot that sleep throughout the castle around you. Quietly, and in between kisses, as he sways you in his arms, he murmurs, “I don't see her here, do you?” In a boyish and rogue manner he looks around the room, searching for the absent headmistress.

You laugh and hit him playfully against the shoulder, opening your mouth to respond, but before a retort can leave your lips, his are fervently pressing against them, silencing you. Just as you begin to melt into him, he pulls away from you, winking at your bemused expression.

“Don't worry, Mols, that's not why I've coaxed you into coming here,” he tells you quietly, as he pulls you over to an ornate armour.

As you come to rest before the antique, Arthur holds out his wand and invokes a familiar spell, “Alohomora.” The lock clicks and you arch your brow at him as he pulls the doors open. Inside sits a familiar wide-mouthed bowl and you gasp as he pulls it out towards the two of you.

“A pensieve?” you query. “Art, what are you up to?”

Your husband moves to stand beside you, pulling you close against his side, and grins as he retrieves a small glass vile from inside his dress robes. He leans in to kiss you behind your ear, knowing the exact effect this has on you. You press into him, your nipples hardening, pushing uncomfortably against your top.

“Not lost your sense of adventure, have you Mols?” he softly teases, his warm breath tickling your tresses.

  
  


Fiery indignation rises up in your chest and you stare daggers into him as you snatch the vile from him. You unstop the bottle and soften slightly at the sound of his warm chuckle. Squeezing your hip with one hand, he reaches out with the other and places it over yours, and together you pour the silvery string of memory into the swirling liquid below.

You pause your patrol as the steady beat of unfamiliar music reaches your ears. Hesitantly, you peek around the corner of the fourth floor corridor, staring at an intricately carved door about halfway down the hall that you’re positive you've never seen before. _The Room of Requirement?_ you wonder to yourself. The prefect in you takes over and you turn the corner, striding up to the door with purpose. Reaching it, a sudden flare of caution rises in your stomach but you quickly push your hesitation down and open it, entering the room and closing the door soundlessly behind you.

The room around you is warm and comforting, light from the setting sun spilling in through the floor to ceiling windows to the right; the jewel toned couches, cushions, and rugs scattered about lend a Moroccan vibe to the room. At the far end you spot a bizarre cabinet, one side is made from some sort of black fabric and its lid is propped up, with some sort of metallic arm hanging over a short, round, raised platform. This seems to be the source of the music you'd heard from out in the hallway. Sitting on a stool next to the box, singing and strumming along to the music is none other than the boy you've had a crush on since first year: charms extraordinaire, quidditch captain, head boy, and teenage sex god, Arthur Weasley.

You stand transfixed, watching as his nimble fingers glide easily over the instrument and his rich baritone voice bewitches you. His eyes are closed, face tilted upwards, the fading sunlight spilling over his freckled cheeks and turning his copper hair to flame. _Damn, what I wouldn't give to run my fingers through that tousled mess,_ you muse to yourself. As though he can hear your thoughts, Arthur's bright blue eyes flash open, pinning you to the spot. He squints at you through the sunbeams, cocking his head to one side.

“Molly?” he queries as his fingers still on the guitar.

You blush crimson and inside your stomach a band of pixies has begun doing cartwheels.

“H-hi Arthur,” you practically squeak, and kick yourself at the stammer, wishing you could dig yourself a hole and jump in.

Throwing his best quidditch star smile at you, Arthur stands up. “Well,” he asks you, “are you going to stand there all evening, or will you come in and join me?”

You nod, and before your head can process your heart's decision you wander up to him, glancing at the cabinet behind him with wonder. You've never seen anything like it before, and as the singer croons about it being a marvelous night for a moondance Arthur holds a hand out to you, palm up, tucking the other behind his back. You look up into his eyes shocked.

“Why Mr. Weasley, are you asking me to dance?” you quip with more nerve than you're actually feeling, before taking his hand.

An easy smile creeps onto his face, and he looks around conspiratorially before leaning down and whispering against your ear, “Well, it is a fantabulous night to make romance,” along with the singer.

You laugh as he wraps you in his arms, guiding you into a gentle swaying rhythm.  He deftly glides you around the room and you wonder at your luck, unable to believe that you stumbled upon him. Nerves eat away at you and in an attempt to distract yourself, you nod over at the cabinet.

“What is it?” you ask as you peer up into his eyes. Immediately he lights up, and stills.

“It's a Muggle invention, they call it a record player,” he responds excitedly. “I traded Lily Evans one term of common room duties for it. Still think I made out like a bandit.”

“So the singer is a Muggle too?” you ask, ignoring the quick flash of envy that rushes through your chest at the mention of the pretty Evans girl.

“Yeah, and a ruddy talented one at that,” he replies enthusiastically, looking pleased at your interest. “American bloke by the name of Van Morrison.”

You look up at Arthur transfixed. Quirking a brow you ask, “Why a Muggle? Why Muggle technology? You could get in so much trouble if the professors found out.”

Arthur pauses, looking down at you curiously. “Are you going to tell them, Mols?” he asks you softly.

A thrill courses through you. _A nickname?_ _Mols?_ No one's ever called you that before. A soft yearning overtakes you and you wish he'd say it again. You look up into his liquid eyes and shake your head, relieved when the small crease between his brows vanishes. He returns to slowly swaying with you, pressing his cheek to the top of your head.

“I love Muggles,” he whispers. “I know there are wizards who look at them as less than Squibs, but I think they're incredible. Not a drop of sorcery and yet still they make magic...” his voice drops off and he presses closer to you. As you listen to the hypnotic tones of the Muggle singer’s voice asking for one more moondance, you can't help but agree.

The song comes to an end and Arthur pulls away from you, leaving you feeling heady and dazed. You watch him as he walks over to the record player, the way his broad shoulders and muscular back stretch out the fabric of his white undershirt stirring a wanton ache between your thighs. Flushing, you press them together.

“Can I play you a song, Mols?,” he asks, glancing flirtily at you over his shoulder.

 _Mols. Again._ You nod in response, a flush creeping from your cheeks, down to your neck and chest.

An upbeat tune begins to play and he returns to you, sweeping you up into his arms playfully. He rocks against you, one hand pressing you firmly against him by the small of your back, the other drawing the ginger curls from in front of your face and tucking them behind your ear. You gaze at him wide eyed and transfixed. He smiles at you in return and softly begins to sing along to the music, his deep voice wrapping itself around you.  

He watches you, a look of raw hunger on his face as he sweetly croons to you, “Skipping and a-jumping. In the misty morning fog with, our, our hearts a-thumping; and you, my brown-eyed girl.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as the words sink in. _But, but my eyes are brown,_ you think. He grins as he watches the recognition wash over you, raising his eyebrows in affirmation.

“You, my brown-eyed girl,” he repeats, before leaning down suddenly and capturing your mouth with his. You moan against his kisses, raking your fingers through his silky hair as you'd longed to do so badly only a few minutes before.

Arthur picks your curvaceous frame up easily, carrying you over to a couch and setting you down on it. He pushes your legs open and kneels before you, resting between your thighs. You barely have time to flush before his mouth is on yours once more, his fingers wrapped in your curls, cupping your jaw. You slide your hands up under his shirt and across his incredibly soft skin, coming to rest on his firm back, just above the waistline of his trousers and you’re shocked by your own brazen behavior.  He kisses you hotly, nimbly unbuttoning the sundress that's clinging to your body.

You color prettily at Arthur's sharp inhalation of breath as he looks down at your torso, then back up into your eyes. Following his gaze, you turn a deeper shade of crimson as you realize that your bra is made of soft blush mesh and it’s doing nothing to hide the little pink buds of your nipples. Before embarrassment takes over and you can react, he leans down, cupping the bottom of your full right breast in his large hand and finding the hardened tip, sucking and nipping it through the fabric. He wraps his free arm around your back, pulling your hips flush against his; you can't help but gasp at the sensation of his most intimate places pressing against yours, even through the layers of clothing between you.

He stops suddenly at your inhalation of breath, pulling back to look into your eyes. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, worry clear in his eyes and voice. “Should I stop?”

You reach out, rubbing his cheek with your thumb. “No, not at all,” you whisper. He sits before you, the concern slowly fading from his face as he analyses your response.

You smile reassuringly at him and take the opportunity to stand, letting your dress fall off of your shoulders and pool on the floor. As he watches, you slowly remove your bra and, throwing caution to the wind, you slide your knickers down your legs, stepping out of them. He takes in the sight of you and moans, quickly pulling his t-shirt off to reveal a beautifully sculpted torso, and throws it to the floor.

You sit down on the couch and reach out to clumsily unbuckle his belt before unfastening his trousers. Suddenly too shy to watch, you look up into Arthur's eyes as you tug his jeans and pants down. He stares down at you, his eyes molten pools of blue, watching you in wonder.

“You're the most beautiful creature that I've ever seen, Mols,” he tells you, his measured voice thick with longing.

His words fill you with pride and bravery, and you sit back on the couch to take in the sight of him. Every inch of him is gorgeous, from his rock star good looks to his sculpted muscle. He stands before you broad-shouldered, long-torsoed, and tall. His skin is a light golden colour from training out on the quidditch field and shimmering apricot hair lightly covers his arms, calves, thighs, and chest; a thin line of it begins at his navel and travels to a downy thicket of hair resting just above... your eyes widen and you gasp at the sight of his glorious cock. It's thick and long, covered in the incredibly smooth looking skin that you ache to touch, just the tiniest bit of a pink head peeking out from the tip, a glistening drop forming at the end of it.

He smiles at you as you look up at him in wonder, and in one lithe movement crawls down onto the couch, coming to rest above you, his hips between your thighs. You kiss him with unrestrained passion and reach between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his cock. It's heated velvet and the raw groan that grinds out of his throat sets your blood on fire, getting you drunker than any firewhisky ever could. His forehead rests against yours, eyes closed, arms trembling, as you gently stroke his length back and forth.

The electricity coursing through your veins is too much and you lean up to kiss him hungrily, pleading with him wordlessly. He opens his eyes and looks down at you.

“Are you sure Molly?” he murmurs.

You nod and softly respond, “Yes. But... gently. I've never...” you trail off, flaming bright red, unable to finish the sentence.

The tips of his ears match your blush and he chuckles. “Me neither,” he confides.

Your eyebrows shoot up and you give him a look of disbelief.

“I’ve been waiting for this incredible red-haired girl to notice me,” he says, his eyes holding your gaze. “Lucky me, you finally have,” he breathes against your lips; his eyes are full of honesty, worship, and something deeper. How did you never see this before?

You wrap your hands around the back of his neck, pulling him into a deep and frenzied kiss, pouring every last bit of pent up adoration into him. Your body arching up into his as though drawn by magnets. Slipping his hands under your shapely behind and holding you in place, he gently presses the head of his cock against your opening. A gasp escapes from your throat as he gingerly jerks his hips against yours and his shaft slowly sinks into you. After an initial moment of resistance, a brief moment of pain is quickly replaced by dizzying pleasure. You moan as he gently draws back out, before thrusting deeper into you at a maddeningly slow pace.

Arthur's mouth explores yours, his tongue coaxing yours into an intimate dance, ebbing and flowing like the tides. Tenderly, he pulls your hips up fully against his, increasing the pace in which he's making love to you, gradually matching his thrusting to match the movement of his kisses. This tantalizing combination of new sensations spawns an unfamiliar tightening sensation that starts in the pit of your stomach and seems to spread down throughout your body, concentrating in the tender bunch of nerves nestled at the apex of your femininity.  Arthur reaches down and slips one finger over your clit, gently pressing down, beginning to rub and flick the spot that holds the key to your ecstasy.

A wanton cry bursts from your lips and you cling to him for dear life as wave after wave of pleasure rack your body and drive you over the edge; your pussy is spasming around his perfect cock as he continues to slide in and out of your body. Your breath quickens and a series of small gasps escape your throat as you flex and grind your hips beneath his, matching your movements to the pace he's set, until exhausted you come to rest beneath him.  Trembling, your hands explore his body, lovingly caressing every inch of silken skin, and solid muscle they can reach. You lean into him and drag your tongue over the hollow of his neck, trailing it down to his shoulder, before looking back up into his gorgeous face and licking your lips.

“Mmm,” you murmur breathily. In the afterglow of the experience you've just shared, all hesitation and embarrassment is left behind and you whisper throatily, “I could just eat you up.”

His eyes flame brightly at your words, pupils dilating, and the tender lover who pulled you over the brink of sanity with his gentle caress just moments ago is swept away, only to be replaced by a ravenous beast.

“Merlin, Mols!” he curses. His solid length slides out of you as he kneels up on the couch before picking you up by your hips and roughly turning you over onto your stomach. Your eyes widen as his grip on your hips tightens and he pulls them back towards him.  Leaning down, he kisses you in a spot you'd never thought of being kissed before, and sitting back up, he slides one of his legs between yours, forcing your thighs open so your wet little pussy and ample behind are on display. You look back at him over your left shoulder, speechless and wide eyed, and color prettily when he gives you a wicked smile and winks at you.  Drawing his right hand off of your hip, he lifts it into the air and quickly brings it down, spanking you hard on the arse.

You cry out as thrill and pain are quickly replaced by a warm tingling sensation and he slides his cock back into your body. He's no longer gentle, just barely holding his jarring thrusts back enough to not hurt you, and you dig your nails into the velvet sofa beneath you. You bite into your lower lip and gasp at the newly familiar, quickening sensation, as his heady moans wrap themselves around you.  Pressing your hips back into his, matching him movement for movement, it's not long before you feel the pleasurable tug at the pit of your stomach. As you shudder and your body spasms around his, he cries out raggedly and slams his cock roughly into you a few last times. Exhausted, he leans down, kissing your spine before gingerly pulling out of you with a throaty groan. You blush as you feel the warm evidence of your lovemaking run down your thigh in his absence.

Exhausted, Arthur slides his long muscular legs over the side of the couch. Leaning over, he kisses your hip before wrapping his solid arms around you and pulling you onto his lap, holding you close. You smile sleepily up at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on his shoulder.

“You're beautiful, Art,” you tell him quietly.

He chuckles, gives you a chaste kiss, and replies “Art is it?”

“Mmm...” you softly murmur in response.

“Well,” he strokes your cheek as he responds, “I'm not half as beautiful as you.” His laughter returns as a flush spreads over your cheeks and he vexingly teases you, “Especially when you turn that lovely shade of pink.”

You half-heartedly attempt to wriggle out of his arms as you huff in indignation, “Ugh! What am I going to do with you?”

He squeezes you tighter, delighted at your ire, and nibbles one of your earlobes as he huskily whispers into your ear, “I can think of a thing or two.”

Suddenly he sobers, his hold on you relaxing, his hands tenderly roam up and down your back. As his eyes meet yours they soften and you hold your breath, sensing the importance of his next words.

His words are quiet, spoken like a prayer, “Whatever you do, all I hope for is that you'll keep me.” You turn in his lap and wind your arms around his shoulders as you straddle his hips and press your forehead against his.

You speak your next words tenderly, every one from the heart, “Darling, you couldn't stop me if you tried.”

  
  


Breathing in deeply, you stand up, blinking a few times as the memory fades from view. Turning to look up into the same startling blue eyes you fell in love with all those years before, you stand on tip-toe and kiss Arthur hungrily. You smile against his lips as he slides his arms around you, deepening the embrace, before hesitantly pulling away.

“Think that room is still in the same place?” he murmurs throatily as his eyes devour the sight of your body greedily.

“Only one way to find out,” you whisper in reply with an impish grin.

You're rewarded with a rakish wink and before you can do anything more than giggle in reply, Arthur is tightening his grasp on your hand and pulling you down the marble staircase back into the corridors below. The first time you found your way to the elusive Room of Requirement you were rewarded with finding true love, and your heart flutters with excitement at what it may have in store for you this time around.

  


_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_  



	21. Penis Aligned with Uranus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

You limp out of the classroom and turn left towards the Astronomy Tower and Peeves—you know that McGonagall would simply give the bothersome spirit a slap on the wrist for his antics.

“Not this time,” you snarl. You reach the bottom of the Astronomy Tower, look up at the spiral staircase and groan—one hundred and twenty-two steps lie between you and revenge. You hesitate for a moment at the first step—is it really worth it?

_You bet Merlin’s ballsack it is._

You begin your ascent, climbing higher and higher, your breathing becoming increasingly laboured with each step. _He had to pick the tallest bloody tower in the whole school, didn’t he?_ But still you climb, your foot throbbing horribly but you pay it no mind. The thought of stuffing Peeve’s jester hat up his rear end sustains you until finally you reach the top of the tower. You collapse in an undignified heap on the floor, but you don’t care—you just need to get air in your lungs or you’re going to pass out. This was not the glorious victory-charge you had envisioned.

You close your eyes and take several deep breaths, concentrating on slowing your heart rate down. You’re getting too old for this nonsense. A voice comes suddenly out of the shadows, a soft, misty sort of voice.

“Horace?” it asks. You open your eyes and see Sybil Trelawney looming over you, her enormous gleaming eyes peering down at you curiously, “Why are you lying on the ground?”

Well, this was most unexpected—running into the very person you had seen pleasuring you in an enchanted mirror only a few minutes previously. You thank Merlin that she is only a Seer and not a Legilimens because you cannot help but recall the shocking, erotic actions you saw played out in the mirror. You wonder fleetingly what it would be like to be with the real Sybil Trelawney and not just a mirror-version of her. You feel a stirring in your trousers at the thought and quickly push those thoughts aside—it’s bad enough to have your colleague find you collapsed on the floor panting heavily without also sporting a large erection.

“Just catching my breath,” you shrug, making no attempt to move. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Peeves, by any chance?”

“He was here a few minutes ago,” she nods. “He threw a telescope at my head before the Bloody Baron turned up and reprimanded him.”

“Oh, right,” you reply disappointedly. Although you’re pleased that someone has put Peeves in his place (you trust the Bloody Baron to do it more effectively than McGonagall),you had hoped you would be the one who got to do it. You glance up at Sybil, “Don’t suppose you could give me a hand up, could you?”

Sybil offers you a spindly hand and you gladly take it, taking note of how warm and firm it is in your own. She hauls you back onto your feet and you brush off the dust from your trousers, avoiding her protuberant gaze, “Thank you. What are you doing up here, anyway? I thought you’d have gone to the Three Broomsticks with the others.”

Sybil blushes, “Oh, I wasn’t in the mood to continue festivities. I retired to my sanctuary to do some light tarot reading before bed, when something....curious happened.”

“Curious, you say?” you ask interestedly. Sybil dramatically sweeps past you and leans on the thin railing, staring up at the clear night sky.

“Yes,” she continues mysteriously. “The Cosmos have spoken to me this night.”

“The cosmos?” you ask flatly. Divination was never a subject you were particularly interested in, but you decide to humour her. “And uh...what did the cosmos say?”

Sybil delicately rearranges her gauzy spangled shawl before continuing in a soft, misty voice, “The universe communicated with me through the power of the Tarot cards—it spoke of secret trysts, seething passions, of our hearts deepest desires…”

She turns to you and warbles, “It is written in the stars, Horace—Venus and Uranus are aligned!”

“Uh, aren’t Venus and Uranus planets?” you ask confused.

“It’s a turn of phrase!” she snaps. “Don’t be pedantic.”

“Sorry,” you smirk. “My inner eye must be clouded.”

Sybil strides towards you then and cups your cheeks in her hands, staring up into your eyes with unbridled passion, “Don’t you see, Horace? It is no coincidence that we should meet here tonight. The Cosmos told me that here, tonight, _now_ , would be the place...where I would meet my one true love.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, “Y-you mean me?”

“Of course,” she laughs softly. “Well, I was concerned for a moment when the poltergeist turned up first. But then you came. I knew it would be you, I always knew…”

Sybil’s lips suddenly crash against your own and you stand there frozen with shock. Your mind momentarily contemplates how inappropriate it is to be doing this with a colleague, but as Sybil presses her hand firmly against the outline of your erection all tangible thoughts flee your mind. You decide then to throw caution to the wind and to submit to your baser desires. Running your fingers through her soft, bird’s-nest brown hair, you kiss her back with equal enthusiasm.

Sybil pushes you against a nearby wall, never allowing your lips to break contact. She makes swift work of unbuckling your belt and your trousers easily fall past your knees. You gasp as the cool night air breezes against your erection, but the cold is only a momentary discomfort as Sybil quickly sinks to her knees and without warning takes your full length into her hot mouth.

“Sweet fucking Morgana!” you cry out, this feels better than you could ever have imagined. Sybil slides her taut tongue up and down your shaft, sending sharp shivers of pleasure through your entire body. Merlin, if you thought she was a good kisser she’s bloody fantastic at this. You sigh and let your head fall back against the wall, allowing yourself to get lost in the wonderful sensations of Sybil’s lips, tongue and hands exploring your body. But after a few minutes, Sybil pauses and pulls away.

“Uh, Horace,” she says lightly.

“Whaaa..?” you’re too light-headed with arousal to give a proper response, but you quickly come crashing back to reality when you see what the problem is. “Oh, bugger.”

Sybil looks up at you with sympathy, “It happens to the best of us, dear.”

You’re well aware that you’re no longer as young in the body as you are in your heart, but it’s still embarrassing to suffer a wilting erection while a beautiful woman is on her knees between your legs. But you are nothing if not resourceful; you are, after all, a Slytherin and a Potions Master.

“Not to worry! We shall be able to continue momentarily,” you reassure her and pull a small, glass vial from your pocket. You down its contents in two large gulps and grimace at the foul taste.

“What is it?” she asks curiously.

“Pecker-Up Potion,” you explain. “My own concoction, of course. Much more potent than what you can buy on Diagon Alley. Aha, there we go…”

Sybil’s eyes widen as your erection, flagging only moments before, comes back with a vengeance.

“Goodness,” she breathes. “How long do the effects last?”

“This batch?” you reply casually, pulling her back onto her feet. “Long enough to fulfill all of your desires, my dear.”

You kiss her again and tease one of her nipples with your thumb. Although it’s covered in several layers of clothing you feel it stiffen at your touch. Sybil lets out a shaky breath and takes your cock—now rock-hard—into her fist, sliding her hand up and down your shaft, slowly at first but she quickly builds up speed. Losing yourself in the moment, you tear at her blouse and buttons ping and fly in all directions. Sybil gasps and her skin erupts in goosebumps, a combination of the cold air and arousal. She pushes your head down towards her chest and you eagerly take one of her pert nipples into your mouth, gently teasing it with your tongue and teeth while your hands roam all over her body.

“Horace, I want you to take me,” she gasps. “Take me over the balcony!”

You look up at her and nod vigorously, “Okay!”

She pulls you over to the balcony and you trip over your feet, forgetting that your trousers are still around your ankles. You kick them off and follow her the rest of the way, still unable to believe your luck that this is even happening. Sybil leans over and raises her arse into the air, her fingers splayed across the cool stone of the balcony’s edge. You struggle to hike up her many-layered skirt, fighting layer upon layer of heavy, ankle-length fabric in a desperate bid to feel her skin against your own. Finally, you manage to lift her skirt up past her hips and your eyes widen in surprise as you see she isn’t wearing anything underneath.

“My dear,” you whisper hoarsely, giving her pert bottom a light pat. “You are full of surprises.”

“I want to be full of _something_ Horace,” she teases. “Get over here and take me, already!”

You gladly oblige and slide your cock inside of her, both of you groaning at the intensity of the feeling. It’s been a long time since either of you have done this, but it’s just like riding a broomstick—you quickly get back into the swing of things. Slowly you begin to move your hips back and forth, savouring the sound of Sybil’s shaky breaths, her slim legs trembling under your touch.

“Faster,” she groans and you pick up speed, her innumerable chains and beads clatter and clang as you begin to piston back and forth.

“Faster!” she cries. “ _Harder_ , Horace!”

“I’m trying!” you grunt. You’re probably going to pull a back muscle doing this but right now you couldn’t care less. Taking a firm grip of her hips so you don’t thrust her over the edge of the balcony, you do as she asks and give it everything you’ve got. Soon Sybil is groaning and babbling incoherently, her wild hair flying up in your face as her back arches and she cries out as a powerful orgasm takes hold of her.

“OH, HORACE!” she cries.

“Ah, shit. SYBIL!” you cry back as you ride the crest of your own orgasm. It’s too much for you and for the second time tonight you collapse in an undignified heap on the floor, only this time you have company. Sybil, cross-eyed and smiling dazedly, falls by your side. You both lie there for a long time, panting for breath and wrapped up in each other’s arms. You’re still sporting a massive erection, but you know you’re done for the night, and by the looks of it so is Sybil.  

“So,” you start when your breath and your faculties return. “Did the cosmos happen to say what happens next?”

Sybil shrugs, “I will need to consult my tea leaves to determine our future after this evening.”

“Are you inviting me for a cup of tea, then?” you chance, giving her a sly smile. Sybil smiles and kisses you again.

 _Well_ , you think to yourself. _This turned out to be a better reunion than I could ever have hoped for. Merlin, what will the next one be like?_

  


_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_  



	22. Jason…Who’s Jason?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

Exiting the common room, you turn left and set a path through the quiet hallways and through the Entrance Hall. You think you can hear Peeves’ maniacal laughter down one of the other corridors off the Entrance Hall and you thank Morgana that it is coming from the opposite direction to your destination. Not willing to risk another encounter with the poltergeist, you speed up and hurry down the stairs leading to the kitchen. Arriving at the bottom of the stairs, you stride purposefully over to the 6 foot tall oil painting of a bowl of fruit and reach out and stroke the head-sized rendering of a green pear, which lets out a high-pitched twinkling giggle before transforming into a heavy, wooden, green handle. Grasping the newly appeared handle, you push and the entire painting swings inwards, revealing a large, high-ceilinged room filled with copper pots and pans that are reflecting the torches along the walls that light the space.

Closing the hidden door quickly behind you, you turn back towards the enormous fireplace that dominates one whole wall of the room and let out an exclamation of surprise, “Oh! I didn't think anybody would be in here at this hour.” You wish you’d taken a few extra moments to pull on a dressing robe as you realize you’re standing there in nothing but your knee-length nightgown...in a rather chilly castle, even if it is the middle of the summer.

The stranger straightens from where he was bent over a cast-iron kettle hanging over a roaring fire and turns towards your voice, “Good evening. Can I help you with anything?”

His voice is deep, soft, and melodic and despite having just laid eyes on him you want to hear that voice whispered into your ear. Beyond your control, your eyes stroll over his body; he's perhaps only an inch or so taller than you, but his shoulders are wide and his musculature is evident underneath his close-fitting tee-shirt. Beneath the thick head of strawberry blonde, wavy hair, you observe that he's been blessed with a strong, square jaw and the most beautiful blue eyes you've ever seen, that bring to mind bucolic strolls through fields with nothing to obstruct the view of the sky. As his lips, just a touch on the thin side, rise into a smile that seems to make those eyes twinkle as if they are filled with stars, you realize that you've been standing there like a dolt for an embarrassing length of time—and that it’s not just the cold you need to worry about.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Oh, um, I was just coming down to grab something to eat…” You let your sentence trail off as you look around the kitchen for some sort of pantry, anything so that you don't start staring at this gorgeous man again and make even more of a tit of yourself.

“Evil minds think alike,” the stranger gives you a shy smile. “I was just making myself some calamari. I'd be happy to share if you’d like?”

“That would be wonderful! I love calamari!” you exclaim as you cross the room to join him. “Thanks, um...this isn’t the giant squid from the Black Lake though, right?” you ask, nervously biting on your lower lip.

He laughs at your question and you think that you are quite fond of that laugh and would love to hear it more. You also can’t help but notice that his eyes seem to be snared on your lip. You release it from your teeth’s grip and then experimentally poke your tongue out to lick the spot and you are quite pleased when his eyes widen and he takes a little gasp of inhaled air. _Interesting…_

Shaking himself and finally wrenching his eyes away from your lips, he clears his throat, “No...um...no, this is a different kettle of squids; I bought this squid in Hogsmeade. Professor Flitwick would not be happy at all if any harm came to the giant squid.  They’ve struck up a friendship of sorts; have you seen him out there riding it yet?”

“Are you being serious right now?!” He nods an assent that he is, in fact, serious and a not-at-all-sexy snort of laughter escapes you before you can stop yourself. You can feel your cheeks warm up as you start to blush, but his eyes are doing that hypnotizing sparkling thing again and you thank Merlin that he seemed to find that, if not sexy, cute at least.  You also make a mental note to yourself to ask Flitwick for a demonstration of his giant squid riding prowess tomorrow.

Giving you another shy smile and a slight nod of his head, he turns toward the wooden table arranged in front of the fireplace and picks up a pile of squishy squid and, turning, drops them into the kettle that you can now see is full of bubbling oil. Turning the knob on a kitchen timer that appears to be in the shape of a rooster, a mechanical ticking sounds begins. “It will be ready in two minutes,” he says. He picks up a lemon resting in the fruit bowl in the middle of the table and begins chopping it into wedges.

“You don’t look familiar; did you go to school here then?” you ask, taking advantage of his attention being diverted to appreciate his large, muscular looking hands.

His hands stutter in his cutting and he clears his throat, “No, I didn’t go here...actually...I’m a squib.”

You try to prevent the shock that you’re sure is showing on your face from coming out in your response. “Oh, well that’s...um…,” your voice trails off as you realize that you don’t know how to end your thought.

“Save me your pity; I get along just fine without your precious magic to fall back on,” he sounds rather shirty as the timer goes off and he turns toward the fire.  Removing the kettle from the hanger, he moves over to a bucket with a strainer settled over it and pours the contents in, shaking the remaining oil off the delicious smelling calamari.

Walking around the table to his side, you place your hand delicately on his forearm and you wait until he meets your eyes. After a protracted moment, he lets out a sigh and meets your steady gaze. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t handle that well. I don’t pity you; that’s just who you are, and there’s nothing wrong with being non-magical. I was just surprised. I hope that you can forgive me.”

He stares at your eyes a moment and evidently content with the truth in your face, he gives you a small smile. “I’m sorry too. It’s a bit of a sore spot for me. It’s not easy being around witches and wizards all the time and seeing all the wondrous things you can do and knowing it will always be out of my reach.”

Reluctantly pulling your hand away from his firm forearm, you extend it out in front of you. “Now that we’ve had our first fight and made up, I suppose I should introduce myself. Hi, I’m Ginny Weasley. I’m a former student here.” You give him your most dazzling smile.

Letting out a loud bark of laughter, he reaches up and shakes your proffered hand. “Hi Ginny, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Jason Newberry and I’m the janitor here.”

Your brows furrow in confusion. “I thought Filch was still around?”

“Oh, he is. He may not be able to run after students like he once did, but he’s still a wily ol’ fox. I help out with some of the more physical tasks and leave the student wrangling to him.”

While you’ve been talking, he’s split the delicious smelling squid onto two plates and hands you one. You take seats across from one another and tuck in to your meals. The calamari is hot and crisp and tastes delicious and you can’t help but let out a moan of appreciation. At the sound, his head shoots up to look at you and you squirm a little as you see the desire shining out of his eyes. The moment seems to stretch into infinity—an eternity spent staring into each other’s eyes—and then all too soon the moment is broken and you both look down at your plates, your calamari suddenly demanding your full attention.

  
  


It’s been hours and you’re still in the kitchens with Jason. Calamari gave way to leftover pudding from the great feast earlier which then gave way to a champagne apéritif. You’re now sipping on a delicious, sweet gewürztraminer, sharing a bottle since neither of you was in a hurry to end your evening together.

“So how did you end up working in Hogwarts?” Your Gryffindor bravery has been fortified by the wine and you let your foot, dangling from your crossed leg, brush softly against Jason’s leg under the table. Reassured that you haven’t been reading all the signs wrong when he doesn’t move his leg away, you increase the pressure slightly and start stroking his leg slowly with your foot.

“It’s...it’s kind of a long story.  You don’t want to hear all that.” He sighs, rubbing his hands together on the table, and a look of resignation and weariness takes over his features.

Sliding your wine glass to the side, you reach across the table with both of your arms and take his hands into yours. “I’ve just spent the last hour telling you all about my crazy, large family and my time at Hogwarts. Are you saying you didn’t want to hear any of that?”

“Of course not! I loved hearing all your stories. I wish I could meet your family. I’ve always wanted siblings and I think you’re really lucky to have had 6 of them,” Jason rushes to reassure you.

A small wave of sadness passes over you. It’s been 27 years and you don’t think you’ll ever truly get over losing Fred, but what was once a tsunami of grief that made you feel like you’d drown has become a lapping ebb and flow that comes and goes like a gentle oscillation on a lake shore.

Smiling at him, you squeeze his hands in yours. “I’m just as interested to hear your story, so go on.”

Straightening back up, you withdraw your arms back to your side of the table and take another sip of the wine. Jason runs his hands through his hair in a nervous gesture that reminds you of Harry, but you quickly push the thought aside. Your ex-husband is the last person you want to be thinking about right now.

“I guess I’ll start at the beginning. I grew up in Canada, on Prince Edward Island. It was great. The island is beautiful and every summer we would pack up the car and would drive around the island, camping wherever our whims took us. My mom was a schoolteacher, fifth grade, so she always had the whole summer off. There’s this beach at Basin Head that was always my favourite. It’s called the “singing sands” because the sand there has a special shape so that when you walk on it it produces this sound that kind of sounds like someone singing.  When I was really little, my mom used to tell me that it was the mermaids that lived just off shore.”

Jason has a distant look on his face as he remembers those past summers and you want to visit this magical sounding place for yourself. “So what about your dad? Was he busy working while you guys were drifting around the island all summer?” His face shifts into one of annoyance and you wish you hadn’t asked.

“No, my dad wasn’t there. He wasn’t a part of my childhood.  In fact, it wasn’t until I was 15 and my mother was dying that she told me who he was. In fact,” he looks down at the watch on his wrist, “yup, after midnight, so it was exactly 27 years ago that I found out who he is.”

Jason’s eyes are glassy with unshed tears and even though you’ve only just met him you think you might be able to do anything to be able to take away his pain. “I’m so sorry. I would have never asked if I had kn—”

“No, Ginny. Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you asked. I want to talk about this with someone, I just...I don’t normally have anyone I can talk to.”

“I’m listening then. Please, tell me.” Reaching one hand across the table to him, you offer the only thing you can think of: a hand offered in friendship. He takes your hand in one of his and softly runs his thumb in circles against your palm and you feel a tug of attraction and a flurry of excitement in your stomach. You want to offer this man much more than friendship, but you want him to unburden himself even more.

He continues tracing shapes on your palm as he continues his story, “I was shocked when she told me that my father was actually a wizard. I thought that she was delirious; that it was all the pain meds she was on that was causing her to be confused. I refused to believe her until she asked me to retrieve a scrapbook from under one of the floorboards and she showed me the proof. It was full of pictures, but they weren’t the kinds of pictures I was used to; they were magical pictures and were moving. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It took me a long time just staring at those pictures before I was ready to accept what she was telling me.

“It turns out that my dad was a wizard that was visiting PEI from Great Britain the summer before I was born. He was there to investigate the merpeople...all those stories my mom had told me about the singing sands beach weren’t stories. They had met there that summer. She found him bleeding and passed out on the beach and had rushed to help him. It turns out that he had offended the leader of the merpeople colony and they had attacked him. He had barely made it to the shore and probably would have died if my mom hadn’t found him and given him first aid.

“She said she fell in love almost immediately—my mom was always a sucker for a good romance. She thought that they would get married and live happily ever after. She was thrilled when she found out that she was pregnant with me after only a month and couldn’t even imagine that my dad would feel any other way. The day she told him was the last day she ever saw him. They had made plans to go out for a nice dinner—to celebrate—but when she went to the hotel he was staying at, he had checked out.”

“What a shithead!” you exclaim before you can stop yourself. Fortunately Jason doesn’t seem to mind and one side of his mouth quirks up in a hint of a smile.

“You’re not wrong.” Jason takes a deep breath and continues, “He did send us money at least. My mom told me that every month, like clockwork, she’d receive an envelope full of money delivered by an owl. No notes or letters, nothing but an envelope of money. The funny thing is that it was often in different currencies: British pounds, Japanese yen, Australian dollars, Indian rupees...That was the only clue she had as to where he was. It was like that for years, a world tour of currency, until I was 9, when all of a sudden something changed and it was just British pounds showing up in that envelope. Then one month the envelope didn’t arrive, and we never received anything else from him.”

“What happened?” You’re so engrossed in his story that you almost don’t notice him playing with your hand, stroking his finger up and down yours and tapping on your freckles, as if he’s trying to memorize everything about it.

“After the money stopped, my mom struggled to support us. She did everything she could for me, but she worked two jobs, even during the summer, and we didn’t get to see each other as much. I spent a lot of time alone reading. I always loved fantasy books; if it had a dragon, elf, or wizard in it, I would pretend I was part of that world. Funny that, in a way, my childhood dream has kind of come true. I may not be a wizard myself, but I get to live in a world full of magic every day.” His finger halts on your hand and he finally looks up at you and though you expect to see grief and sadness in his face after his story, you’re surprised instead to see happiness and relief, “And I get to meet beautiful, smart, and funny witches that—”

You don’t let him finish. Pulling your hand from his, you stand up from the bench and bend over the table, grabbing his shirt and pulling him up to meet your lips. Your lips slam together and you hold his head to yours, your hands on either side of his face, fingers threading through those beautiful, soft locks you’ve been admiring all night.

He seems surprised for a moment, but it’s only an instant later when his hands are grabbing your upper arms and pulling you closer to him. You scramble up to kneel on the table, leaning down over him and pulling his shirt up, relieved when he finally lifts his arms and allows you to pull it over his head before descending again to his lips.

You can’t quite believe that you’re doing this. You just met this man a few hours ago and, despite some of the rumours that were maliciously spread by girls that were just jealous of you during school, you don’t usually move this fast. There’s something so familiar about him though, and kissing him now doesn’t have any of the tentativeness or uncertainty of a first kiss. It feels like you’ve been doing this for years.

Pulling away from his lips, you reach down and grasp the hem of your nightgown, pulling it swiftly over your head, you leave yourself naked and exposed before him. Looking down, you expect to see him staring at your body on display for his gaze, but instead you find him staring up into your face. Maintaining his gaze, which feels almost more intimate than his touch would be, you reach out, holding out both of your hands for his. When he acquiesces and places his hands in yours, you bend over and place a single kiss into each of his palms before placing them over your breasts.

The moment of calm passes and a frenzied passion takes over, your mouths meeting in a jousting of tongues and biting of lips, his fingers pinching and squeezing your nipples with just enough force that you feel it like a cord pulling taut in your clit. Sweeping his arm across the table, he sends your long-empty plates clattering to the ground and, seizing your torso, lowers you down so that you’re lying lengthwise on the table.

He crawls up on the table with you and settles between your thighs, propping himself up with an arm beside your head so that he’s looking down at you. Using his other hand, he picks up a strand of hair running across your forehead and pushes it back, stroking back from your hairline. This moment feels pregnant with significance and all of a sudden you’re struck with a case of nerves that have you nervously biting your lower lip. His eyes dart there and he traces his finger around your hairline and up your jaw to your mouth, gently tugging the abused slip of flesh free. Craning his neck down, he places a feather-soft kiss on your lip, causing you to inhale sharply as a stab of desire shoots through you.

“You’re so beautiful, Gin,” he whispers the words directly into your mouth, filling your lungs with his words of praise.

Before you can gather your thoughts to respond, he’s pulling back and scattering kisses along your jaw and down the tendons of your neck, biting softly at the jut of your collarbone. You groan in protest when he pulls away, but your curiosity perks up when you realize he’s reaching over your shoulder for the still half-full bottle of wine. Tilting the bottle slightly in offer, you nod and open your mouth, allowing him to pour a drizzle of the wine into your mouth; you’re happy to find that the cooling charm is still working and greedily swallow the cool sweetness down.

Putting the bottle to his own lips, he leans back and pours a small mouthful into his mouth. You’re wondering what he’s doing when, instead of swallowing, he merely closes his lips and sets the bottle down. You’re not left waiting for long though, as he lowers his head to your pert right nipple and engulfs it, leaving your nipple surrounded by cool wine and hot mouth. You gasp at the sensation and enjoy the swipes of his warm tongue through the cool liquid. With a final suck, he swallows the body-warmed wine and releases your nipple with a pop, blowing a light stream of air over it that causes goosepimples to pop up on your skin.

He looks a little cocky when all you can manage is a breathy _Wow_. Reaching for the wine bottle again, he repeats the process with your other nipple; it would be a terrible crime to play favourites, after all. After completing his task on lefty, he definitely looks cocky that you seem to have melted into a puddle of wanton desire.

“This wine really is quite good—it would be a shame to waste it.” With a wicked grin that makes you wonder if you’re going to survive this night, he grabs the bottle and pours a dribble into your belly button, causing you to seize up with the sudden cold and jerk up. Quickly placing his hand on the middle of your sternum, he holds you down with a gentle force and prevents anymore of the wine spilling. Licking up the streaks of spilled wine trailing down the sides of your stomach, he runs his tongue up to your belly button. “Great legs,” he notes. With an indecent sounding slurping noise, he seals his mouth over your belly button and sucks up the wine that he placed there. Swishing the wine around his mouth, he swallows it down, “Light bodied.”

Another tilt of the head yields another mouthful of wine and you brace yourself for what you know is coming. Arranging himself further down the table, he lowers his head between your thighs and grants your clit the same treatment your nipples received. Your back bows off the table at the maelstrom of sensations barreling through your body. He swallows the wine and looks up at you briefly, “a little too sweet for my tastes though. I prefer something a little more acidic.”

He continues licking and sucking on your clit, penetrating your pussy with two thick fingers and slowly fucking them in and out of your body with a steady rhythm that is beginning to make you feel desperate for a deeper, harder claiming.

“Merlin, fuck me, please! I _need_ to feel you fuck me!” Your voice is a mix of strident and whinging.

He gives your clit one last firm suck before pulling away and slowly retracting his fingers from your weeping vagina. With piercing eye contact, he slowly inserts his fingers—the two that were just inside you— into his mouth, and licks them clean. “Mmmm...that tastes much better.”

Your body convulses with a jolt of raw lust and you think this man may be the death of you.

Unable to wait any longer, you sit up and rip at his belt and fasteners on his jeans, desperate to strip him down and feel him inside you. After what feels like a century, you finally achieve your goal and waste no time pulling down both his trousers and pants, his erect penis popping free and bouncing a few times, causing you to giggle a bit. Reaching out, you wrap your hand around the hot skin and stroke a few times, letting your thumb rub and press on the glans, wiping the precome there in circles.

A rapid intake of air through his teeth causes you to look up at him. His muscles are tense like he’s holding himself back, and his jaw is clamped tight, the veins throbbing. You lean forward to take him into your mouth when he stops you and you look at him in confusion.

“It’s been awhile for me; I don’t think I could last through your hot mouth sucking me off.” He strokes a stray hair behind your ear and you’re soothed by the gesture—he isn’t rejecting you. “Protection?”

“I’m on a Contraception Charm and I just recently got tested for infections and was given a clean bill of health.  I haven’t been with anyone since then.”

He nods. “I’ve only ever been with one other woman and she was clean. I’ve also been tested and don’t have any infections, but it’s better to be safe.” Reaching down, he fumbles in his trouser pocket and brandishes a foil packet. Ripping it open, he removes the Muggle prophylactic and rolls it down to the base of his penis as you watch with interest; you’ve never had sex with a Muggle before, but this feels familiar for some reason...

All logical thought is stripped from your mind as he settles between your legs again and leans down over you; all that’s left is base desire and mindless hunger.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he offers you a chance to change your mind, but there’s no way that is going to happen.  You want this.

“I’m sure. I want you. Please Jason, make love to me.”

His eyes flare at your request, his pupils seeming to expand and he reaches down between you to line the head of his penis up with your vagina. His eyes pierce yours once again as he pushes forward and enters you, a groaned _Ginnnnnnnnnnnn_ escaping his lips. His hips come to rest against you as he seats himself fully inside you, taking a moment to compose himself. His eyes flutter shut and you miss the intimacy; raising your hand up, you stroke the side of his face until he opens his eyes again and you feel like you can see into his soul.

“Please,” you whisper, barely able to hear yourself over the _whush-whush_ of your heart in your ears.

His lips come down on yours, not so much a kiss as an exchange of breaths, as he pulls back, much too slowly for your liking, and then thrusts forward, filling you once again. It feels wonderful and you wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging his increasingly vigorous thrusts with your legs pushing at his arse.

It’s not long before he’s pleading with you, “I’m so close Gin. You feel so amazing. Touch yourself. Make yourself come with me.”

As wonderful as his thrusting feels, it can’t match the sheer perfection you feel when you reach down between your bodies. You stretch your fingers down, where you can feel him entering you over and over, and coat your fingers in your own silky fluids. Sliding your hand back up, you rub your clit, speeding up your ministrations to match his thrusts, and it’s no time at all before you find yourself balancing at that knife’s edge of pleasure.

“Do it, Gin. Come for me,” he rasps out and it’s enough to push you over the edge. Warmth rushes through your body as your pussy spasms around his embedded length. It feels like too much to handle, and when he lets out a growled _Fuuuuuuccccckkkkk_ and comes inside you, another wash of pleasure takes you over. You dig your fingernails into his back with one hand—needing something to unleash your passion on—while you continue rubbing your clit with the other, prolonging your orgasm for as long as you can.

As your shudders subside, he rests atop you, running his arms under and over your shoulders and rests his head on your chest, holding you to him. You stroke your nails across his skull, enjoying the silky feel of his tresses on your fingers, and just enjoy this moment of peaceful afterglow. After you both recover your breath, he reaches down and pulls out of you, tying off the condom and dropping it onto the ground for later disposal. He begins pulling up his trousers and pants and you take his cue and pull your nightgown back over you. You were hoping that this was more than just a quick tumble, but it appears that this meant more to you than him, and you find you can’t look him in the face.

“Well this was...um…”

“Gin, please wait. There’s something I need you to know. I need to finish telling you the rest of my story. Normally I would never have done that without telling you everything, but it’s just been so long, and you’re so sexy and...I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry Gin.” He rests his elbows on his knees as he sits on the table, using the bench as a footrest, and drops his head into his hands. He looks distraught and you don’t even think twice before you sit down beside him and wrap your arms around him, pulling him until he’s leaning against you for support.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jason. This was more than just some random hook-up for me. I know we just met, but you’re important to me.”

He rights himself and turns to look at you, his eyes full of longing and a deep sadness that rips your heart in two. Suddenly an irrational fear grips you and you want to pull away—sure that you don’t want to hear what he has to say—but you push down the emotion and give him a nod of assurance instead.

Scanning his eyes over your face, he gives a resigned sigh and turns to face forward, leaving you to stare at his profile.

“My mom died the summer after I turned 15 and there was nothing keeping me in Canada. I didn’t have any other family there, and I was always an introverted kid, so I didn’t even have any close friends. So after my mom died, I bought a plane ticket and flew to England. I figured it was as reasonable a place to start looking as any. It wasn’t long before I found myself in a dingy little pub on Charing Cross Road, which I’m sure you’re familiar with—The Leaky Cauldron.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with it,” you affirm dryly, causing him to give a small laugh.

“I couldn’t believe my luck at first that I’d stumbled across a gateway to Magical London, but since then I’ve learned that it wasn’t luck at all; squibs are drawn to magical locations. We may not have enough magic in us to perform spells, but we have enough that we’re sensitive to magical places. They’re like a beacon to us, like magnets drawn together.”

You imagine this man as a young boy, alone in a new city and in search of a parent he’d never known, after losing the only important person in his life, and you marvel at his strength and resistance. He amazes you.

“I inquired with the bartender about my father, not really expecting anything to come of it, but was shocked to find out that he was actually a pretty well-known wizard. Or, rather, he had been a few years previous...before he was hit with a backfired memory charm—”

“No...that can’t…”

“—when he was a Professor at Hogwarts.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. _Jason is Gilderoy Lockhart’s illegitimate love child?! How is that possible??_ A creeping feeling of guilt is coming over you because you know that it’s partially your fault; Lockhart wouldn’t have been down in the Chamber of Secrets if you hadn’t been so stupid and naive and fallen prey to that evil diary.

“But...Lockhart doesn’t have any family. Nobody’s ever been to visit him at St. Mungo’s,” you protest, desperate to belief that you aren’t the cause of Jason and his mother having to struggle to make ends meet for so many years.

Jason turns to you and reaches out to take your hand. “It’s okay, Gin. I know that you’re feeling guilty, but you shouldn’t. It’s not your fault for how my father turned out,” he assures you as he gives your hand a comforting squeeze.

“You...know…about?”

“I know all about what happened in the Chamber of Secrets and I also know that you bear no blame for my father Obliviating himself. He was a coward and one of the only blessings I have is that nobody has to know that I’m related to him.” He’s wound your fingers together and your bound hands rest on his thigh. You look up from them to see a scowl marring his handsome features.

“But you told me. I know you’re related.”

“Yes. You’re the exception. I want you to know everything about me, even the ugly parts.” He gives your hand another squeeze, but you’re not sure if he’s trying to comfort you or himself.

“I won’t tell anyone,” you promise him, “but why didn’t you go see him at St. Mungo’s? You came all this way to find him...why not go and see him?”

He lets out a little huff of laughter that sounds more bitter than joyous. “I did actually. I went to see him as soon as I found out where he was, but...the visit didn’t exactly go well.”

“What happened?” you ask.

“At first he thought I was there for an autograph—”

You can’t help but snort at that. That spell may have wiped out his memories, but it definitely didn’t change that core narcissistic component of his personality.

“I know, shocking,” he continues after your interruption. “Anyway, eventually I worked up the courage to tell him who I was, that I was his son. At first he just laughed, but when I showed him the scrapbook my mother had given me, he got really upset and agitated and demanded I leave. I was going to leave and maybe try again another day when there was a huge flash of light and I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up, I was surrounded by nurses demanding to know who I was and how I got in there. None of them could remember me from when I arrived.”

He seems to be lost in the memory and you wait patiently for him to continue. Frankly, you don’t mind the break because your mind is reeling and it could use a moment or two to regain its balance.

“My news must have been too distressing for him and he...lost control, I guess. From what I understand, he doesn’t have the mental faculties to make it likely that he intended what happened to me. But he’s a wizard, and all that magical power is still there, waiting to be used. I think he was stressed and his magic exploded out of him, in its most familiar form.”

“Jason, I don’t understand. What do you mean? What did he do to you?” You’re desperate to hear his answer, but a growing part of you wants to run away and refuse to learn anymore.

He seems to be able to sense your instinct for flight and squeezes your hand, holding you to him. “Ginny, ever since that day, nobody remembers me. As long as they’re in my presence, they form the memories fine, but as soon as I am out of sight it’s as if it never happened. Every memory of me is purged from their minds.”

“Jason, no. I can’t believe that. I’ve never heard of anything like that, and I KNOW that I could never forget you! I know we’ve only just met, but there’s no way that I’ll ever forget this night together!”

He reaches up to your face with his other hand and caresses your cheek, wiping away the tear that has broken free and is making its slow progress down your face. “Oh luv, you will. I wish it weren’t true—there’s nothing I wish for more—but I know you’ll forget me.”

“How?” your question comes out as a hoarse whisper, horror and grief rising up inside you, and you turn your head away from him, unable to look at him right now.

“I came to Hogwarts in the summer of 1998. I wanted to see the place where it happened, I guess. I talked to the Headmistress and explained my situation to her. She used the Pensieve to view some of my own memories and must have felt sorry for me. She promised me that there would always be a place here at Hogwarts for me and introduced me to the House Elves. Fortunately the curse doesn’t seem to affect them, something about House Elf magic being a different “flavour” than that of wizards, so they can act as my go between.”

“But you said that McGonagall knows about you? Can’t she do anything to help? Surely there must be some way to lift the curse or—”

“We tried that for a few years, but we never got anywhere, and every time we got together to experiment, I had to explain the whole thing to her again. I could see that it was hard on her, not being able to help me, and you all were dealing with so much grief after the War...eventually I just stopped asking for her help and left her in peace.”

“But—”

“You know what got me through it though? That first year I lived at Hogwarts, I met a beautiful girl who was also dealing with the loss of a loved one. She was just like everyone else when we parted, of course, but she was unlike everyone else in that when we would meet again, she was always willing to open her heart to me and didn’t treat me with suspicion. We spent many nights talking about the war, about my mother...and about her brother.”

A steady stream of tears are running down your face now and your vision is clouded with ones still unshed. Jason releases your hand and wraps his arms around you instead, this time pulling you in to lean against his strength.

“You’ve always been the most amazing woman that I’ve ever known, and I cherish every moment I get to spend with you.” He places a kiss in your hair as you sob quietly against his chest, soaking his shirt with your tears.

You should have followed your intuition. You should have run. You don’t want to know this.

He holds you until your tears dry up and the racking sobs ebb away and then he offers to make you some tea. You nod your head, taking up on that offer. Tea always seems to help. You sit there staring into space, unable to focus on anything as a cold numbness creeps over you. After what feels like weeks, but is likely only minutes, Jason places a hot mug in your hands and you instinctively grip it in both hands, wishing you could absorb the radiant heat into your very bones.

Jason leans in and places a warm kiss on your forehead, chasing away the numbing cold from that one spot, and you close your eyes and breathe him in. You want to commit his smell to memory: a soothing mixture of sandalwood, lavender, and Pine scented cleaning products. It hits you that you never really can commit that to memory and a fresh wave of sorrow hits you. You screw your eyes shut as he pulls away, trying to stop the fresh round of tears from starting. You don’t even notice him crossing the room and heading towards the door until you hear the hinges squeak and your eyes shoot open.

“Goodbye Gin, I love you.”

You don’t even stop to deliberate on your destination, Apparating across the room on instinct alone and get there just as the door is pulled shut. Diving for the handle you wrench open the door and look down the hall.

All you can see is a strawberry blonde haired man walking down the hall, heading up towards the Entrance Hall. _Wow, cute butt,_ you think to yourself. Now...what were you doing here again? Weird, you can’t remember. Shrugging, you pull the kitchen door shut and follow the scrumptious-butted man towards the Entrance Hall.

_If you want to follow those sexy buns,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 23](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33736578)._

_If you want to take a quick turn around the Quidditch field,_  
_Apparate to[Chapter 26](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33736830)._  



	23. The Weasel and the Panda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

You follow the handsome man and his juicy buns down the hallway, though not as close as you want to because you’re not sure who he is. After a few minutes, you see him meet Filch. Even with decades passed since your days as a student, you instinctively hide in an alcove, driven by the fear of being caught by the elderly caretaker. Once safe in your hiding place, you almost laugh at the humour of hiding from the old man who no longer has any power over you, yet you still stay quiet and watch the stranger talk to his confused companion.

You can’t really hear the muffled voices until Filch exclaims, “Of course, Ja—”

You strain to hear the man’s name... _James? Jared?_ You’re frustrated that you couldn’t make it out, but you suppose it must remain a puzzle for now, and you strain your ears to hear the rest of Filch’s interaction with him.

“You must be a new hire. Of course, I know exactly why… here, boy, follow me to the office and I’ll give you your rounds for next week.” The two men start walking down the hallway and in a matter of moments their footfalls and voices fade and you return to the hallway, wondering where this jaunt has left you.

You’re contemplating whether to track down Filch’s companion when you make a cursory inspection of the hallway and notice that you are near the Slytherin common room. You also spot that a drunken reveler has left the stretch of stone wall that guards the entrance to the room wide open and you idly wonder if _she_ might be in there. You think you might have seen her at the Slytherin table during the feast, but when you went to check, she was gone—if she was ever there.

Well, the door is open and it has been a year since you saw her in person. Maybe after all the stops and starts this will be the time it finally works. You figure your wandering days are over and if rumours are to be believed, hers are too. And if things don’t turn out the way you hope, she’s a fine conversationalist—not to mention a few other things her tongue is good for. You smile at that and begin taking the stone steps that lead deep below the castle.

Even when you previously dated her you’d never been down here. Harry and your brother had told you of their daring raid in your first year, of course, but that isn’t the same as seeing it yourself. You knew that the room lay beneath the Black Lake, but knowing and seeing are two different things. Seeing the massive windows that look into the murky water, which on occasion flash with streaks of fish, merpeople, kelpies, and things you can’t identify—and aren’t sure you want to—leaves you breathless.

When you finally turn toward the rest of the room, your eyes alight first on the beautiful, carved snake head over the fireplace before they take in the pale green orbs that seem to hover in the air—eerie parallels to the candles that float above the tables in the Great Hall—whose dim glow is all that illuminates the room. The antique furniture that populates the room reflects the opulence of the pureblood families whose children have called this dungeon home for millenia.

The room appears deserted and you suspect the muffled sounds of snoring and moans you hear from the dorms are a likely explanation. Just as you decide to head back up the stairs to take the long walk to your own common room and a warm, if lonely, bed of your own, you hear a stifled yawn and see limbs unfold from an antique wingback chair that is turned away from you, towards the banked fire in the stone fireplace. A woman’s deep voice drawls from behind it, “Weasel, why don’t you get over here already? I can’t see you, but who else could it be? No self-respecting Slytherin would make half as much noise as you did and you’re the only one reckless enough to come down here in the middle of the night.” Your heart skips a beat at the voice of your first girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson.

Trying to not appear _too_ eager, you cross the dim room, your speed likely betraying how keen you are, and when you round the chair you meet her eyes and smile. She puts her arms out to request a hug and you oblige with a force worthy of your house’s mascot. As you pull back you ask, “May I kiss you, Panda?”

In response, she pulls you onto her lap, the chair roomy enough for you to straddle her thighs, and presses her lips against yours.

It’s been decades since your first kiss with Pansy and although the two of you haven’t been together for the majority of those years, you have certainly seized every available opportunity with each other. During her eighth year at Hogwarts and many times since Harry left you, you have found yourself back in her arms. After the first few tipsy smooches that tasted of firewhisky and frustration at your failing relationships with men, they got pretty good. This kiss is perfect.

The two of you start slow, as you always do. No tongue at first, just a soft pressing of warm lips for a second or two; when you feel your partner aching for more, your lips part and welcome her tongue inside you and then neither of you can hold back. It feels as if you’re both talented Legilimens, the way you seem to instinctively know what the other wants, almost before they know it themselves.

You hold onto her strong back as your bodies glide together and you feel a thrill as your clit rubs gently against her warm thigh. You’re too distracted by the quivers of excitement erupting from your clit and the torrid meeting of your tongues to notice the armchair transfiguring into a fainting couch until her leg wraps around you. She’s relentless and takes everything you give her, grinding her clit against your thigh in reckless abandon, leaving a damp trail on your silk nightgown. It feels like no time at all before you feel her shudder in pleasure beneath you. As you lay there on top of her for a few heavenly minutes, enjoying how each tiny movement sets off a tiny, lapping wave of pleasure, you can’t imagine a greater happiness than what you can find with your gorgeous Slytherin lover.

Just as suddenly as the perfect moment begins, it’s broken. She lets one of her hands slip from its place atop your hip and glides it slowly towards your chest, pushing you apart.

“Gin, I need to be serious for a moment. I know where stuff like this will lead if we let it. I wanted that kiss, for sure, but I’d like something more to remember you by in case you…”

“What? In case I what?” you blurt out.

“I don’t have a lot of feelings for people. I learned a long time ago that they were dangerous to have and would only bring pain, but you taught me I was wrong. Even though it hurt when you started dating Harry again, it was a small solace that I could still count you as one of my friends. When I worked late nights inspecting dark, magical buildings in the middle of nowhere I would sometimes get scared and I felt totally alone; then I’d dig into my bag and find whatever letter you’d owled me last and I’d remember that I wasn’t.” You are about to respond, but she raises her hand to silence you.

“Thank you, love, I’m sure you were going to say something about how great I am,” she says with a knowing smile and you stick your tongue out at her in jest, “But I need to get this out now. I’m afraid if I don’t say this now, I’ll never be able to, even though I’m afraid of what you might say. Also, if you tell anyone we know I was ever this vulnerable, I will deny everything and hex that lovely face of yours.” She blesses you with her trademark Parkinson smirk. You reach up to tousle her hair, but she shoots you a poisonous glare, so you make an exaggerated show of lowering your hand and slapping it to discipline your unruly member.

“Since Harry and you split up, you’ve made what time you could for me, but the problem has always been schedules—with your hectic calendar of coaching and playing Quidditch and me flitting all over Europe inspecting houses... we hardly ever have time. However, I happen to know that’s coming to an end. They’ve promoted me to a desk job in the Department of Magical Housing and a little bird told me you’ve resigned as Harpies head coach to take a position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. We’ll be living in the same city, our jobs will be blocks away from each other, and we’ll have all the time in the world, if we want it.”

You nod.

“So...that leaves the question of what this relationship is going to be going forward. I know what _I_ want it to be—what I’ve always wanted it to be—and just didn’t have the guts to ask. I’d planned to talk to you earlier, but I lost you in the crowd. I figured it’d keep till tomorrow, but since I’m so irresistible that you simply couldn’t wait to see me, now is as good a time as any. Now, if you’ll get your fine behind off of me, I’ll get this started.”

When you don’t move immediately, she pushes you back onto your feet and stands, pushing the couch back to make a little space. Dropping down on one knee, she clasps your hand, “Ginevra Molly Weasley, will you…” but before she can finish, her voice is drowned out by your loud snorts of laughter.

“Panda, you can’t be serious!” you exclaim. You haven’t been anything “official” since Hogwarts. Surely you two should actually _date_ again before leaping into marriage!

Pansy stands up and gives you a mischievous grin. “Actually, I’m not. I just wanted to see you squirm a little.” Taking your hands in her own, she interlaces your fingers and looks you in the eye. “What I was going to say was, will you be my girlfriend? I’m tired of pretending I want this to be casual. I want to make a real go of it with you.”

You remain silent, staring at her for a protracted moment until Pansy begins to wither under your gaze. “Two can play that game, Panda, who’s squirming now?” Pansy rolls her eyes and makes to pull her hands away, but you tighten your hold on her. “Yes, Panda. I would love to be your girlfriend. More than anything else in the world.”

Her face seems to light from within and you have a brief flash of the most gorgeous smile you’ve ever seen before she’s pulling your head down to hers and smacking her lips against yours.

“I think we should celebrate our new relationship, don’t you?” she rasps as she sidles closer to you.

“I agree, that sounds like a capital idea,” you reply, pulling her to you so that you can feel her soft breasts against your own.

Pansy’s eyes darken with desire as she slides the straps of your nightgown down your arms, leaving it to pool around your waist and trailing kisses across your bare flesh. After a minute or so of teasing, she begins a tour of your breasts, first kissing, then sucking, peppering in gentle nibbles amongst her kisses. She begins to bite harder, each jolt of pain eliciting a moan of pleasure. You hastily pull your wand from its holster and cast _Muffliato_ to keep from waking up every Slytherin in Hogwarts.

You are hungry for some of her too and you attempt a wordless spell to undo the buttons on her blouse carefully, but just before you complete it, she bites down on your sensitive nipple. The spell backfires, opening her top but showering you with buttons.

As your mutual laughter fades, you reach around to unhook her bra and you take a moment to appreciate your Slytherin’s beautiful curves before diving in with a barrage of kisses. She lets go of your strawberry creams and moves her hands down to your hips, sliding your gown over the crest of your ass, inch by inch. When it falls to the floor, wrapped around your ankles, she moves her hands back up to your pussy, which is now only covered by a single drenched cloth. While laying a suggestive hand on your upper thigh, she whispers into your ear, “You want me down there?”

You nod and let go of her chest so she can return to a kneeling position. She starts with a few teasing caresses over your panties before lifting the cloth aside and slipping two fingers inside you. She rubs her fingertips against your G-spot and you shudder at the sensation, but all too soon the fingers are gone again and you feel an emptiness inside. Raising them to her mouth, she sucks them in, one by one, savouring your taste. At last, her hands return to your pelvis and your underwear joins your nightgown on the floor.

Leaning forward, Pansy scatters kisses down your stomach, leaving a trail leading between your legs. Extending her tongue to slip between your labia, she teases around your clit, getting closer and closer but never quite giving you the firm pressure you crave, before she slides down to let her tongue dart out to lick your entrance. Extending her tongue further, you feel her plunge it in and out of you with shallow licks around your inner walls. You moan in frustration, needing more stimulation, until at last she slips out and licks her way back up. Your hips escape your control and you thrust forward, throwing your leg over her shoulder, demanding more as she alternates between darting flicks with her tongue, and strong sucks which make you gasp.

With each change in sensation, you hit new heights of pleasure. Alternating between tongue, finger and lips, she drives you closer and you almost climax when she slows down, taunting you, letting the orgasm almost slip away. “Please,” is all you have to say for her to redouble her efforts. Your orgasm comes back with a vengeance and you melt under her ministrations, holding onto her hair for dear life as you shudder in violent waves of pleasure.

When you return from your fog of joy, she asks, “Insertables next?” You nod and she casts _Accio_ on her strap-on, which comes flying into the room. You remove the toy from the harness, pick it up and slip it on, tightening it to fit your slimmer frame. You note that the toy has a flared base for anal insertion, as well as a vibrator on your end.

“Do you want anal, or should you summon a different toy?”

She ponders, then nods. You loosen the harness a bit to slip the toy in, taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of fullness as it rubs against your walls and G-spot. With a quick _Lubos,_ the toy and her insides are fully lubricated. She positions herself arse up on the fainting couch, grasping onto the backrest in anticipation.

The slow process of removing her skirt is a joy. You take in the sight your new girlfriend makes and can’t help but smile. _Her bum is easily the finest in the wizarding world_ you marvel as you stroke the statuesque fundament before giving it a firm squeeze. She makes a low noise of pleasure at the touch, but throws a look of naked lust over her shoulder. “Are you going to do this or not, Weasel? We don’t have all night.”

You give her arse cheeks a little slap and she lets out a little squeak of surprise. “Oh Panda, I know you love the anticipation.” She’s about to make another smart remark when you touch the tip of the toy against her bum cleavage. She instantly relaxes her posture, preparing for your entrance.

“That’s better,” you say, “now let’s get you ready.”

You cast a spell that covers your left hand in an iridescent glove before you kneel down and gently insert your first finger inside her. It slips in without without much trouble and when Pansy’s ready you add a second. It takes more work, but with some delicate stretching you manage it. In preparation for the third finger, you expand her passage, opening your fingers until they press against the surfaces inside. When Pansy starts making small thrusts backwards, grinding against your hand, you slide the third finger inside her joybox. You take a few moments to fuck her arse with your fingers slowly, making sure she is stretched comfortably and ready for the girth of the toy.

“For Merlin’s sake, I’m ready! Get on with it, Weasel!” Pansy’s whinging makes you chuckle and you take your time retracting your fingers. You take a moment to enjoy her frustration, before you tap the dildo against her contracting orifice a couple of times before leaning forward and breaching her arse.

You slowly slip past the first ring and as you press farther into her body, you pause to give her time to accommodate, each time asking her how she’s doing. Several times you have to pull out and cast another _Lubos_ , but soon you’re fully inside. Leaning forward, you drape yourself over her back, relishing the feel of her cool back against your nipples. You lick up the side of her neck, enjoying the salty taste of her skin, when you hear her whisper, “Just say _Vibro_ to activate it. You can change the intensity by saying numbers after you’ve activated it.”

You call out “ _Vibro One_ ” and you feel the gentle humming sensation start inside you. Pansy makes a soft noise of pleasure as she too is stimulated by the vibrations and you begin to press in and out of her, beginning slowly then picking up speed. Soon, you begin to increase the intensity—2, then 3, then 4, then 5. You feel amazing as the stimulation builds inside you and you hear the groans of pleasure from the witch beneath you.

Pansy’s almost incoherent by this point, only making guttural grunts and moans, but somewhere in the animalistic half-words you make out a muffled, “Harder!” You oblige, unsure how long you can last, but stepping up your thrusts and again increasing the vibration until it hits 10. Reaching down, she begins rubbing her clit hard, trying to release the tension, as you begin to feel yourself reaching the point of no return from the vibrations. In a time that seems like a million years and nothing at all, you both come, screaming joyful curses as you feel each other spasm in pleasure.

When you can move again, you slowly withdraw the dildo from her tender arse and cast a cleansing charm before you undo the harness and cuddle together atop the pile of your clothes.

“I love you, Weasel,” she sighs.

“And I love you, Panda.”

And that’s all you remember until you feel a hand on your shoulder and hear Millicent Bulstrode’s voice waking you from slumber. “You’re not supposed to be here. I don’t really mind, but it’s tradition. I snuck Justin in but I was just about to walk him out.”

You smile at the handsome Hufflepuff before realizing you’re still starkers. You mentally shrug as it’s certainly not the first time you and Pansy have been discovered nude in this castle.

You rouse your green-tied witch and both of you are soon dressed.  Whispered voices sound from the hallway to the dorm rooms and the two of you consider sprinting for the stairs until you recognize the voices of your ex-husbands.

“Should we stay and tell them?” you ask.

“Why not? They’re reasonable blokes.”

Harry and Draco exit out into the common room, looking about as bedraggled as you feel. Harry blushes when he sees the two of you. “How are you, Gin?” he mumbles.

“Not bad. Looks like the two of you had near as much fun as we did. Thought you two should be the first to know, we’re back together!”

“Congratulations! Couldn’t have happened to a more wonderful witch. Since you’re here…” Harry trails off, looking embarrassed, before holding up his left hand to display the gorgeous titanium band with a strip of emeralds running through the middle.

In shock, you turn to Draco who gives you a proud smirk as he holds up his own left to display a matching band, only with glittering rubies instead.

“That’s amazing!” you exclaim as you gather up your best friend in a massive hug. You look across and see Pansy doing the same for Draco. Soon, the four of you are walking the corridors arm in arm, as you head to breakfast.

As the rest of the sleepy Slytherins make their way into the common room, they can faintly hear Pansy’s echoing voice saying, “You boys in the market for some maids of honour?” 

 

_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_


	24. The Shrieking Shag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

Though you feel a little bad for Katie, you decide to trust Fred when he says she will be fine. You sigh and roll your eyes, which is enough for him to know you have forgiven him. He straightens up and offers you his arm in mock gallantry.

“My Lady?”

“Oh, Merlin...” you shake your head, but take the offered arm anyway, and you start walking down Hogsmeade’s main street together. The fresh midsummer night’s air has cooled down just enough to be a welcome relief from the stuffy air inside the Three Broomsticks, and you can feel yourself sobering up a little bit as a summer breeze catches in your hair and the skirt of your dress. You breathe in deep to let the summery fragrances of mowed lawn and blooming flowers engulf you, when you are hit with the subtle smells of men’s cologne and the musky scent of Fred’s skin. Flustered, you realize how close taking Fred’s arm has brought you to him, which makes you miss a step and stumble a little, before his strong arm steadies you.

“Careful there,” he eyes you warily. “Are you actually drunk? I can bring you to the castle or get one of the girls if you’re not feeling well.”

“No, no, I’m fine. Just got caught on a stone,” you lie. No need for him to know that being this close to him makes you nervous enough to fall over your own feet.

He takes a long look at you, but as you collect yourself and stare back defiantly he shrugs and you both continue walking.

“So, where are we going?” you ask, as you take a turn into one of the smaller alleys and you realize you’re walking away from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

“Where do you want to go? I thought we could just take a stroll. Maybe walk up to the Shrieking Shack. Haven’t been there in a long time. George and I used to sneak in there on Hogsmeade weekends. Could never find any ghosts though.”

“How romantic,” you scoff.

“I didn’t know you wanted romance,” he smirks down at you. “I didn’t really take you for a woman who wants to be wooed.”

He stops to look at you directly. You can feel the warmth radiating from him as he looks down at you, a lazy half-smile on his lips, and you feel your heart beating faster. “Do you want me to woo you, Hermione?”

“M-maybe.” Your attempt to sound calm is betrayed by the breath catching in your throat.

“Hmm.” His eyes darken and he moves a little closer. You can feel the cool wall of the house behind you on your back. “I don’t think so, Hermione. I think you know what you want, and you know how to take it. I don’t think you need anyone to woo you.”

Your heart is beating fast against your chest, and you are painfully aware of every centimetre that separates you from Fred. You can tell that his breaths have become deeper and a little faster as well. Emboldened by the effect you have on him, you lift a hand and rest it against his muscular chest.

“Maybe I want _you_ to take it from _me_ ,” you say, as you feel his heart beating rapidly against the palm of your hand.

He grins. “Well, if that’s the case...” He closes the remaining space between you and you are pressed against the wall behind you when his lips finally meet yours. The way he kisses you almost makes you see stars and you put your arm around his neck for more support. He tastes of Firewhiskey and for some reason of strawberries, and you suddenly need more, more kissing, more body contact, more _Fred_. You reach up into his hair to pull him down towards you and he seems to feel similarly because one of his hands sneaks around your waist to pull your body closer against his while the other is pressed against the wall beside your head to keep you both steady. Your kiss deepens, and you open your mouth to allow the tip of his tongue between your lips. For one blissful moment there is nothing but his mouth pressed against yours, his tongue trailing along your lips, and his hand sneaking down from your waist to firmly grab your arse. Then his mouth suddenly leaves yours and you almost start to protest until you feel his lips against the skin of your neck. You let out a little moan and turn your head to give him better access.

“Fuck!” you whisper as you feel his teeth lightly sink into the soft skin of your neck and he chuckles softly. You let your hand wander across his chest, and sneak it underneath his shirt, when he suddenly stops and catches your wrist.

“Not here,” he murmurs in your ear. Then he steps away from you, and before you have fully registered the sudden absence of his body pressed against yours, he has already grabbed your hand and pulled you along, further down the alley.

It takes you a few seconds to collect yourself again and by then you have already taken another turn, down another road.

“I wouldn’t have taken you to be one to shy away from a little danger. Fred Weasley, too scared to make out in public. Who would’ve thought.”

He laughs a hearty laugh. “Don’t you fret Hermione. If you want to _make out,”_ he gives you a pointed look that lets you know he doesn’t think that they had been headed towards a simple make-out session, “in public, there will be occasion for that, but I don’t want you to hold back tonight.” He stops again to look into your eyes. “I want to hear you when you come,” he says, his voice low.

This time it’s him who gets pressed against a wall, you who kisses him passionately, and it’s you who presses your thigh between his legs. You feel his erection through his trousers and this time you are the one who steps back with a grin.

“Well, well, Mr. Weasley. That’s quite the assertion you’re making.” You smooth down your dress, which is already pretty rumpled. His eyes follow your hands down your body.

“I wasn’t assertive enough in the past, and I won’t make that mistake again.” He pushes off the wall and starts walking again, looking back to make sure you are following him. ”I held back so I wouldn’t stand in the way of my little brother’s happiness.” He snorts. “What an idiot. He was a fool to let you go, you know.”

“He knew it wasn’t going to work, just as well as I did.”

“I suppose. Let’s not talk about him, though. Let’s talk about you.”

“What about me?”

“How come you never made a move on me? I know you had a crush on me back then.”

You can feel your cheeks turning scarlet.

“Uhm....”

He looks at you, eyes aglint, a smile spreading over his face. “I mean, who can blame you? I’m smart, I’m handsome, I’m successful,...”

“...not to mention humble.”

He lets out a warm laugh that echoes off the walls of the alley. It’s contagious and you can’t help but grin. Then he takes your hand again and leads you off the street, up a narrow path. There is a moment of pleasant silence between you, still filled with the echoes of his laughter, and for a second you are almost hesitant to speak again.

“You’re right though. I did have a crush on you...but I never thought you returned the feeling and I was still confused over what I felt for Ron, so I never pursued it.”

He regards you with an unreadable expression for a moment. “Well, luckily we’re both adults now, and are much more aware of what it is we’re feeling.” He looks at you with amusement and something else you can’t quite place. Then he nods at something behind you. “We’re here.”

You turn around and realize you’re standing in front of the Shrieking Shack.

“The Shrieking Shack‽” you ask incredulously. He chuckles, and you can feel his breath on your neck and in your hair.

“What better place to make you scream?” he murmurs into your ear, his voice husky and low. A shiver runs down your spine and you forget all objections as he jumps the fence and then turns around to help you climb it. He catches you as you jump down and pulls you close to him.

“This is your chance to say no, Hermione,” he purrs into your ear. “If this is moving too fast for you, we can just...” his voice trails off as you press your hand against the firm bulge in his trousers and start to rub slow circles against his erection with your thumb.

“If I didn’t want this, we wouldn’t be standing here.”

He looks at you with dark eyes, then captures your face with both hands and kisses you again. You return the kiss, and follow him as he starts walking backwards slowly, pulling you with him towards the old, shabby house. When you are almost there, he spins you both around until you are pressed against the door of the shack.

“Is this becoming a theme now?” you chuckle as he pushes you harder against the door. He grins down at you, his face only inches away from yours.

“If you want.” With that he slowly starts pulling up your skirt and kissing your neck, until he slowly sinks to his knees in front of you. For a second you worry that someone might come, might see you standing here in front of the house, but then he starts trailing kisses up your inner thigh and you forget any objections you might have had. When he reaches the edge of your underpants you press your hand against your mouth, but Fred seems to notice and he pauses to look up at you, his chocolate eyes almost black with desire.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns, and only resumes his explorations when you remove your hand from your mouth. He lifts up one of your legs and settles it over his shoulder to give him better access. You inhale sharply as he lets his tongue explore your inner thigh, moving closer and closer to your joy box.

“You know, people still think this place is haunted. Any noise you make will be attributed to supernatural activity.”

Fred’s warm breath caresses the wet spots on your skin as he speaks and you finally let out a soft moan.

He moves towards your centre and kisses you through your wet knickers. You moan again and he lets out a satisfied hum. The vibrations of his deep voice against your knickers make your head spin, and when he finally pushes them to the side and starts kissing, sucking and licking your clit, you almost want to sob. Soon the air is filled with the sound of your pleasure and your fingers are buried deep in Fred’s hair as he explores your body with his mouth, figures out what rhythm you like. He nearly drives you to the edge of insanity when he starts sucking lightly on your clit while simultaneously circling it with his tongue. It doesn’t take long until you come undone underneath his caresses, but by then you have lost all sense of time anyway. You scream when you finally come, thankful for the support of the door and Fred holding you up as your knees turn to butter, and you are shaking with the aftermath of your orgasm. For several moments all you can do is stand there, breathing heavily, one leg still hooked over Fred’s shoulder, leaning against the door. Fred lets your dress fall down again and rests his cheek against your lower abdomen, face pressed into your thigh.

“Jesus,” you say with a shaky voice.

Fred looks up at you, grin on his face. “And that was only the beginning.”

  


_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_  



	25. Never Been Kissed...Like That Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

You turn to glare at Fred.

“You’re such an arse! There wasn’t any need for that!”

Fred scowls at you and lifts his arms up. He looks as though he is about to speak, to shout and defend himself, but he seems to think better of it when he takes in your expression. Instead, he stops, sighs and sags, his arms dropping to his sides again.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. She’ll be fine, though, better than fine once the potion is finished.”

You raise your eyebrow at him.

“Okay, Okay,” he says quickly, holding his hands up in a defensive motion. “I’ll go and speak to her.” He makes to move past you but you stop him with your hand on his firm chest.

“No, I’ll go,” you say. “You’ve done enough.”

“Fine,” he mumbles, chastened.

“I’ll tell her you’re sorry, but it’s probably best if you speak to her tomorrow; she’s bound to be upset with you when she finds out you’re behind this.” He agrees with a nod of his head.

“Goodnight Hermione,” he says and leans over to kiss your cheek. His lips are warm and linger for a moment. You can smell the butterbeer he has been drinking and his aftershave, but as nice as this moment is you’re still a bit cross with him for being so childish.

“Goodnight Fred.”

You don’t see him leaving as you have already turned to head through the pub and to the ladies’.

It’s late and the crowds are thinning in the pub, so it isn’t long before you are pushing the heavy door with the ‘Witches’ sign on it.

The door closes behind you and drowns out the chatter of the other patrons. You look around the room and see Katie perched on the counter between two sinks. There is water seeping into her tight jeans and the end of her long shirt is caught around the spigot. She has her head down, looking at her hands which are twisting in her lap. Only the tip of her nose is visible; her face is hidden by a copper waterfall, burnished waves cascading down her shoulders, front and back. The curling tips encroach upon her chest leading your eyes to her soft breasts.

Katie lifts her head and turns towards you. At first she is slow and cautious, but when she sees you, her face lights up with a smile and her eyes sparkle.

You try to look stern, mimicking Madam Pince when she finds an errant student eating a pumpkin pasty or leftover pasta bake in the Hogwarts library. Lips pursed and brow furrowed. It doesn’t last long and you return her smile.

The red spots covering her skin are beginning to fade, but Katie doesn’t seem to be that bothered by her affliction right now.

“You came back for me?”

“I did,” you reply. “He says he’s sorry, but you might want to avoid the “Loony” nickname in the future.”

She snorts and for a moment pain flashes across her face.

“Are you ok?” you ask.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Fred and I have always had a _complicated_ friendship. Sometimes he goes too far. Sometimes I go too far. We love each other, really.”

You realise you don’t know Katie all that well.

“Are you…? Were you two…?” Panicking, you drift off, hoping your meaning is clear, and she begins to laugh.

“Merlin, no! Fred’s definitely not my type.”

 _Is she saying what you think she’s saying?_ Your mouth makes an ‘O’ as you catch on. She smiles, nods and winks at you.

“He was interested in you tonight. I’m guessing that’s why I ended up looking like I’d been in a fight with a Blast-Ended Skrewt.”

“Fred’s an idiot to think I would just go with him like that.”

“Do you think he realised he’s in love with Luna?” Katie asks, eagerly leaning toward you.

You can’t help but laugh. “Probably, but he’s been curious about me for a long time now.”

“And what about you?” Katie asks. “Are you curious?”

You walk towards the sink and stop beside her, reaching down to free the cloth of her shirt from the spigot. “I might be a little curious,” you reply, and your hand brushes against her thigh...not entirely by accident.

Katie sways towards you and it’s clear she’s still tipsy. You take her hand and gently tug, helping her down from the counter. She stumbles a little and as you try to help her get her footing, you realise that you’re a little unsteady on your feet too. You also can’t help but notice that you’re standing closer together than strictly necessary and that you have your hand on her arm. The pair of you are frozen in time, standing there for minutes or hours, you’re unsure. Finally you can’t bear it any longer and look up into her face. Her skin is no longer covered in the red, angry sores. It is now clear and smooth and glowing. Her cheeks are rosebud pink and she is...

“Beautiful.”  You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Katie’s eyes widen and her mouth opens in disbelief.

“I...uh...wow, Hermione!”

You can feel yourself blush—your cheeks are on fire with embarrassment—and you take a quick step backwards; too quick, as the heel of your shoe has caught on the edge of a floor tile. Before you even begin to fall though, Katie has her hands firmly on your shoulders, keeping you in place.

“Let’s go somewhere a bit more comfortable.” Taking you by the hand, she turns and leads you from the toilets. Instead of taking you back through to the main bar, the pair of you walk in the opposite direction, through a door you don’t remember seeing earlier.

You find yourselves in a small and cosy room. There is a small fire lit in the grate and you’re convinced they must be magical flames because they don’t give off heat, only a soft flickering glow. On the walls are paintings of pastoral landscapes. A large oak welsh dresser stands in the corner of the room and on it sits a large serving platter of food: bread, fruit and cold cuts. There is a pewter jug beside it along with two glasses.

“Come, Hermione, sit with me,” Katie calls from the sofa. She has made herself comfortable on the large, soft floral seat and pats the cushion next to her. You’re suddenly nervous and unsure how to act around Katie even though you’re known each other for years. With so few words, so much has changed between the two of you. You can’t look away from her figure, her hair, her face, but you struggle to make eye contact. It’s too intimate and yet you want more—more than you ever expected. You remember where your feet are and move them to join her. As you sit, the cushions seem to sigh around you and hug you close, seeming to undulate gently beneath you.

You gaze into the fire and watch the flames lick and curl around the charmed wood, too afraid to turn to your companion.

“Hermione...” fingers graze your cheek and encourage you to turn your head and gaze into the hazel eyes you have been avoiding. Your skin tingles where she has touched you and your heart and stomach leap and flip, trying to escape your body. She smiles at you and you think you might be sick.

“You haven’t done this before, have you?” she asks.

“No,” your response is whisper quiet; even with how close she’s sitting, you wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t hear it.

She takes your hands in hers and gently rubs her thumbs along your knuckles.

“It’s okay if you only wanted to flirt... just tell me. I’d like more, but only with your say so—your consent.” Her patience makes you feel calmer and more like yourself. Before you can second guess yourself, you lean forward and press your lips against hers. You are kissing and soon your arms are around her, pulling her close and telling her you want more too.

Your hands brush along her sides and stop at her waist while hers stroke your back softly, neither of you willing to break the kiss. You hold on to her hips, letting the tips of your fingers graze the soft skin of her torso as her fingers comb through your hair. The butterbeer’s effect is nothing compared to this feeling of being drunk on excitement. It feels as though your whole body is tingling and every time Katie touches you there are sparks. It builds and builds until you don’t think you can stand it any longer and then... and then Katie breaks off the kiss. She smiles and places her lips against yours briefly once more before taking her wand out, pointing it at the door and casting a locking spell.

“Now let’s make things interesting,” Katie winks at you and bites her bottom lip. She stands, kicks off her shoes and grabs the hem of her shirt. You can’t keep your eyes off her as the skin of her midriff is revealed, pale and soft and needing to be touched. Her breasts are round—full of bounce and wiggle as she moves her arms up above her head. With a flick of the wrist, Katie’s top is hitting the floor and she is looking at you expectantly. You look into Katie’s lust-filled eyes and smooth your hands down your shapely legs towards your feet to unbuckle the strappy sandals. As you stand, you let the shoes in your hands land with a soft thunk onto the rug. You turn your back to Katie and sweep your hair over your shoulder to expose the long zip running down the back of your dress. She steps up close behind you and you can feel the warmth of her body through your dress as she starts pulling the zip down your back.

Kisses are pressed along your spine as your skin is exposed to Katie’s gaze. Her lips ignite small fires on your skin and the flames send tingles through your entire body. You press your thighs together to try to satisfy the craving growing between your legs—you cannot get this dress off soon enough! Impatient, you pull at the shoulders and drag the fabric downwards and once it is over your hips, you have already begun to unfasten your bra. All of your previous tentativeness has been burned away, leaving nothing but an intense need to feel Katie’s skin against yours. Behind you, you can hear the heavy rustle of a pair of jeans joining the rest of your clothes as Katie is also caught up in the rush to be unclothed, to be skin-to-skin and rejoicing in the heat and affection of another body.    

It is not long before you are both naked and back in each other’s arms. Teeth brushing against the flesh of necks and shoulders. Desperate tongues seeking out nipples, dark pink and pert, hands reaching lower, fingers curling into the wet heat below causing gasps and sighs to ghost across heated flesh.

Katie drops to her knees in front of you with her hands firm on your hips. She begins by nuzzling her face into the curly hair above your pussy before traveling lower. She nudges with her nose to get you to spread your legs further apart, granting her head access between your thighs. You comply without question, eager for what is about to come.

She begins with kisses along your upper thigh, rising until her lips brush against your labia. It's too much and you're too sensitive—you jump and shriek and giggle.

“Ticklish, huh?” she asks as she brings her fingers up to stroke the tender skin between your leg and groin. This time when her tongue brushes you, you feel the electricity zapping through you.

“Oh, fuck!” you cry and begin to babble, “Oh, yes… Just there… So good… More!”

At your request for more, Katie inserts her fingers inside you. Her fingertips curl to hit that spot and you feel your legs begin to shake. A few more moments of this exquisite torture and you begin to feel hot. Waves of energy are pulsing from your clit and sending shockwaves through your entire being. Your legs buckle beneath you and you slide bonelessly into Katie's embrace. She kisses your forehead.

“Did you enjoy that?” she asks.

“I certainly did.” You know you have a goofy smile on your face, but you don't care.

“Good. That was certainly my intention.” There is a moment of contented silence.

“I think I could worship you, Hermione,” she whispers. Opening your eyes, you sit up and turn to look at Katie sprawled across the floor,  her intense gaze meeting yours.

“I could spend my nights in praise of the curve of your neck, the inside of your elbow and the big toe on your left foot.”

You roll your eyes as you listen to her wax lyrical.  “You're drunk!”

“Yes, a little. That and I'm very horny. I think you should do something about that,” she gives you a sly smile and a wink.

She lays with her hands behind her head, elbows stretched outwards. At ease. She won't rush you, which makes you want her even more. You reach out to her, your fingers stroking her face. You kiss her full lips, that you’re quickly becoming addicted to, as your hands move lower, hands on breasts, teasing her nipples, paying equal attention to both. Lips replace nimble fingers and you feel Katie wriggle beneath you. She gasps, moans and coos your name as her body arches to your touch.

Moving to kneel between Katie’s legs, you look up at her splayed on the floor in wonder. Her long red-brown hair is in disarray, spread like the golden rays of the setting sun piercing through clouds. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are dark with lust. No one has ever been more beautiful to you than she is in this moment. You want to make her feel as good as she made you feel. You want to kiss her all over her body.

So you do.

After you have charted every inch of her skin with your lips, you return to kneel between her legs.

Her pussy is wet when you touch her and she moans in relief. Your fingers dance over her labia and clitoris, experimenting with a variety of slow and quick movements as you learn what makes her hips buck and roll. You slide a finger inside her, then a second, and you thrust into her repeatedly. She’s hot and slick. You feel the walls of her vagina soften and harden around you as Katie begins to move in tandem with your hand. She is making the most delicious little noises—quiet whimpers that make her lips part and pout in an adorable moue.

You have to kiss her. You have to kiss her when you make her orgasm. You have to feel her skin against yours, hot and sweaty from your shared enjoyment. The need is undeniable.

As you move on top of Katie, you rub your thumb in firm circles around her clitoris. Your thrusting fingers match your partner’s quick breaths; her breasts rising and falling in quick succession. Your tongues and lips are getting frantic and there is a scrape of tooth on lip. Her hips are bucking erratically and you feel her body stiffen, becoming desperate. Her moans are vibrating in your mouth as your tongues battle each other. Faster and harder, the pair of you fall into Katie’s orgasm. She cries out and you feel her muscles squeeze your fingers in a death grip. She shudders with every ghosting touch and tries to catch her breath.

It takes her some time to calm down and you watch the process in fascination. When her tremors finally subside, you smile and lie down on the floor beside her. She throws her arm around you and looks into your eyes.

“That wasn’t bad for your first try.”

You find you like the sparkle in her eye and think you might be able to worship her too.

 

_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_


	26. Snitches Get Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

Looking down at your silk nightgown you can't help but wonder once more why you were in the kitchens.  Perhaps the mulled pumpkin juice was spiked with a Somnambulance Potion? It would be just like George to pull such a large scale prank.

Shrugging, you turn back towards the Great Hall, and can't help but smile at the memories of tonight. It was wonderful getting reacquainted with so many friends, classmates, and professors; but if you're being honest with yourself, the night wasn't without its fair share of sorrow as well.  A dull ache settles in your chest at the memory of all of those who aren't present for this reunion, of those who can't be, and of Fred. It's been decades since the war, and yet your memories and the sense of loss for those who fell, especially your beloved brother, are as raw as the day of the Final Battle at Hogwarts.

Sighing, you give yourself a mental shake; you will not succumb to the pain that peeks at you from around every corridor, attempting to stain the lovely weekend set out ahead. You just need to find someplace to gather yourself, where you can spend a few moments clearing your mind, and your shared dormitory is not that place. There is one place, your favorite place if you’re being honest, where you are pretty sure you can escape to. Who knows? Perhaps you'll even run into your favourite professor while you're there; she was always a night owl and you doubt she'd be asleep, even at two in the morning.

Slipping off the cozy slippers that you donned before roaming the castle, you smile as soft grass cushions your footfalls, making your way out of the ornate receiving hall and down the sprawling lawns towards the towering quidditch pitch in the distance. Here's to hoping you can scrounge up a spare broom to ride.

  
  


The locker and training rooms, which you'd spent countless hours of your youth in, stand blessedly silent and you're grateful that you seem to have been the only one who's awake and decided to pop ‘round and give your former flying coach a visit. Moving silently past the showers, you round a corner and grin, picking up your pace as you spot the telltale sliver of light spilling out from beneath her office door. Reaching the threshold, you turn the knob, leaning against the door to Madam Hooch’s office and pressing it open with your shoulder.

“Guess wh...” you begin, trailing off at the sight of the familiar figure seated behind an ebony desk.

The decade or so that's passed since the last time you played a match with the wizard opposite you has done nothing to dull his handsome features, in fact age has only seemed to favor him in the looks department. He's clearly maintained his daily exercise routine, which has left him with a physique that any professional quidditch player would be proud of.

No longer being bound by the constraints of a team contract has given him the freedom to grow out his obsidian locks which now fall in thick waves, curling at the base of his neck. A well-groomed goatee softens the angular lines of his face, as well as accents his masculine jawline. And in the low light of your surroundings his dark chocolate eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Viktor?” you murmur, confused as he stands to greet you. Timidly you continue, “What are you doing here?”

Your question is rewarded by a shy smile that tugs up at the corner of his mouth, and he inclines his head politely before glancing meaningfully first at the clock on his desk and then down to the skimpy gown that skims along your curves. You flush at the realization that you've just barged in on him in your night clothes, self-consciously tucking the fuzzy pink slippers behind your back.

“I could ask you the same, Ginevra,” comes his quiet reply and your stomach does a small flip at his velvet baritone, tinted by a slight Bulgarian accent. He's the only person you can think of who has solely called you by your given name. Ever the gentleman, he drops his eyes at the blush that's spread over your cheeks and continues, “I'm set to begin as Hogwarts’ newest flying and quidditch instructor this upcoming school year. I was attempting to take advantage of my colleagues’ distraction this weekend, in hopes of putting the finishing touches on my office and quarters.”

“What's happened to Madam Hooch?” You implore quietly, still shocked by the older witch's absence.

“Not happy to see me?” he asks playfully, chuckling as your cheeks pink even further before answering. “Met some younger witch on holiday. They couldn't live without one another, it would seem, and she followed the woman to Brazil.”

“Oh,” you respond softly. You're happy to hear that your former professor has finally found the love that she deserves, but you can't help the slight feeling of sadness at the thought that you may not see her again.

“It's hard,” Viktor’s rich voice gently cuts through your musings, he seems to have read your mind and you lift your eyes to meet his. “After everything we've lived through, the good and the bad, we can't help but crave stability.”

You smile at him warmly. This is the Viktor you remember, the one you came to know so well over the years that you two played in the league together. Gentle, kind and intuitive, not to mention so much sharper than most people give him credit for. Although you miss your old professor, you can't think of anyone better to teach, guide and care for the newer generations of students who will grace the halls of Hogwarts.

Looking around at your surroundings, you smile at the comforting, club-like atmosphere that he's brought to the space. “I know it's late, but would you care for any help?” you ask, suddenly as shy as if you were a thirteen-year-old girl again. Looking up into your toffee eyes, he smiles and nods.

  
  


An hour or so later, the two of you hang up the final bit of decor, a large box frame that holds all three uniforms he wore during the Triwizard tournament—: blood, dirt, tears and all. You find yourself charmed by the fact that Viktor prefers to unpack and set things to order by hand because apparently he finds the muggle approach soothing. Surprise and admiration tug at your heart as you inspect the garments more closely, realizing that he's had a different crest sewn onto the right-hand breast of each outfit: Beauxbatons, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor are each represented. Coming to stand behind you, he brings his hands to rest with a tentative familiarity on your shoulders.

“That was one of the best years of my life. And one of the worst,” he confides in you, voice thick with emotion. You turn to face him, impulsively moving an inky strand of hair out of his face, tucking it behind his left ear.   

“I think you all feel that way,” you murmur in an attempt to soothe him, guilt piling in your stomach at the pained look that crosses his face.

“Not Cedric,” comes his aching reply. Hearing the handsome Hufflepuff's name fills you with a sense of sadness, but the incredible hurt that pours off of Viktor at the mention of the boy's name is palpable and you quickly remember how close the two of them had become over the course of your third year. Often times, where one was found, so was the other.

Shaking himself, he breaks away from you and walks over to a record player. Back turned towards you, he fiddles with the enchanted muggle contraption before the upbeat tempo of one of your favorite bands, The Weird Sisters, begins to fill the room. “Music always makes me feel better,” he says softly, and you're not sure if he is addressing you or himself.

You nod in response, “Me too.”

“Dance with me?” he asks, making his way back to you, the sorrow from only a few moments prior receding from his eyes as they begin to dance playfully. He looks so young and vulnerable that you can't help but nod. A giggle bursts from your lips as he sweeps you up into his strong arms, swaying you back and forth with athletic grace. Closing your eyes and resting your head on Viktor’s shoulder, you briefly wish that you had a time turner; thirteen year old Ginny would never believe she'd grow up to be wrapped in the arms of the Bulgarian Bonbon—in her underpinnings no less. Sending out a silent thanks that Rita Skeeter is nowhere in sight, you allow yourself to become lost in the moment.

When a few songs have passed you come to the realization that you're no longer dancing. Opening your eyes after stealing a few extra seconds to enjoy the security of Viktor’s embrace, you tilt your head up to find him watching you from half-lidded eyes.

“You've always been so beautiful, Ginevra,” he says without preamble, voice hushed in the quiet room. Whispering, he continues, “I've always thought so, ever since we began playing one another on the circuit. I just never had the nerve to tell you. Not when you were dating Harry ... it just felt disrespectful. I should have though.” His eyes are shadowed with something akin to regret as he finishes, “How is your husband, anyways?”

You stare up at him in shock. _How is it that he doesn't know?_ The whole bloody wizarding world knows. But of course he wouldn't. Viktor always was a private man and he hated publicity. Hated constantly being hounded by the likes of Rita Skeeter. Hated the gossip and lies her and her ilk spread. You suppose it makes perfect sense that he wouldn't have been paying attention to the gossip column in the Daily Prophet.

Bringing one of his hands up to your mouth, you graze his knuckles with your lips and break the not-so-new news, “Harry and I divorced about five years back. Once we thought the kids were old enough to handle it.”

A look of embarrassment spreads over his rugged features as a ruddy flush transforms his olive complexion. “I'm so sorry, I didn't realize...” he trails off, concern etched across his face.

“Oh no! No need to apologize,” you reassure him, with a squeeze of the hand, shyly drawing circles against his sternum as you continue, “You had no way of knowing. Harry and I are still close friends, but neither of us are the same people now as the two young kids who fell in love here at Hogwarts.”

At your admission, Viktor draws you closer until your bodies are pressed flush against one another. Slowly, you bring your eyes back up to meet his, the breath hitching in your throat at the expression that has settled over his face. You can't think of the last time someone looked at you with such a raw mixture of longing and need. In fact, you're not sure that anyone ever has and your heart pounds against your chest as you feel the evidence of his desire pressed flush against your lower stomach.

“Does that mean I can kiss you?” he asks huskily. Licking your lips and watching his with a growing sense of desire, you nod in response, curling your arms about Viktor's neck as his mouth comes crashing down against yours.

A rush of sensations roll over you as his soft lips explore yours, coaxing your mouth open so he can slide his tongue inside, tempting yours into an erotic game of cat-and-mouse. Standing on tiptoes to give yourself full access to his mouth, you can't help but gasp as your hardened nipples graze against his chest through the silken fabric of your rosy nighty. A throaty moan escapes your lips as a familiar ache grows between your thighs and you grind your hips against his in a bold display of longing. His hands slide down to your pert backside and he squeezes it roughly, palms and fingers exploring through the thin material beneath them.

Pulling his mouth away to speak, his dark eyes search yours, the next question barely above a whisper, “No knickers?”

Biting into your lower lip and shaking your head, you unflinchingly hold his gaze, responding, “No. Nothing. Can't stand sleeping in them.”

“Da eba!” Viktor curses in his native tongue, the coarseness of his vow leaving you lightheaded. Gripping hard onto your hips, he walks you back until he has you pinned against a wall. Moving his lips from yours, peppering kisses down your throat and collarbone, before finally dropping to his knees and kneeling before you. His eyes rove over your body from hips to breasts, strong hands bunching in the slick fabric that clings to you. Looking up at you, his eyes are brimming with desire.

“May I?” he murmurs, sending a rush of yearning coursing through you. Before nerves and common sense can stop you, you nod enthusiastically and that's all the permission he needs.

His mouth finds the tender bud at the tip of your breast, sucking and manipulating it through the thin silk of your frock. Moaning, you lace your fingers through his loose ebony curls, holding him closer, attempting to push down the nervous feeling that at any moment someone could walk in and catch the two of you.

Glancing at the open entryway, caution finally gets the better of you and, unable to stop yourself, you blurt out, “The door.”

Bringing his eyes up to meet yours, Viktor winks, transforming back into the same cocksure youth you met all those years before.  He bites down gently on your tender nipple before slowly releasing it and tilting his head up towards you. His eyes never leave yours as he teasingly moves his attentions to your other breast, flicking the end of his tongue against the puckered tip that's pressing against your bodice, eliciting a soft cry of pleasure from you in response.

Watching you, he smiles as he follows the arousal and concern warring across your face. Coming to stand before you, and with hands roaming over your body, he leans in to place gentle kisses at the hollow of your neck.

The warmth of his breath tickles the baby-fine hair beside your temple as he leans in and, in a provocative voice, whispers, “Let them watch.” Without another word he stands back, allowing you to either stop him or watch as he begins to undress. _Fuck it_ , you think to yourself, throwing caution to the wind.

Nimble fingers move deftly over the buttons of his black dress shirt and he makes quick work of unfastening the cuffs. Your eyes devour the incredibly inviting sight of his muscled torso as he shrugs off the vest he's wearing beneath. With an easy confidence, he reaches down and begins unbuttoning and unzipping the well-worn jeans that cling to his athletic frame, revealing a dark thicket of curls. All the while, his eyes remain glued to you, taking in the sight of your trembling body.

“Lose the frock, love,” he implores, voice thick with unbridled yearning.

Almost before you realize what you're doing, you peel the silky fabric over your head, allowing it to pool around your bare feet. With great effort, you resist the urge to to cover your most intimate parts; it's been a long while since you stood nude before a member of the opposite sex, especially one as roguishly handsome as the wizard facing you now.

“Merlin, you're perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with longing.

Blushing, you follow his gaze down to your sun kissed body. Freckles spread across the canvas of your skin, beginning with long legs that lead up to full thighs and hips, tucking neatly into a small waist. Finally, your eyes make their way up from a your smooth stomach to your petite, pert breasts. Unsure that you agree with the title of “perfect”, you decide not to argue and instead shift your gaze back to Viktor.

If you want perfection you need look no further than the sculpted Adonis standing nude before you, smiling in a cheeky manner and clearly enjoying the way you press your thighs together as you catch sight of his thick, uncut prick. Having lost the final vestiges of his clothing while you were distracted, you find that you could not be happier with the outcome.

“You're not so shabby yourself,” you quip in response, the words coming out with more daring than you actually feel.

Enjoying your spunk, a grin spreads across his tempting mouth and Viktor winks at you before easily picking you up, tossing you over one broad shoulder, and smacking your bare behind at the sound of your surprised gasp. Walking past his desk, you crane your neck in an attempt see where he's taking you but are able only to watch his muscular behind as he moves gracefully across the room. There are worse fates to be had.

Arranging you gently on a tufted couch in the corner of his office, Viktor settles between your thighs and leans down to trap your mouth in a heated kiss. Running a fingertip along your satin slit, he finds the sweet spot resting at the apex of your sex and lightly begins to nudge it back and forth. A wild sob that you barely recognize as your own breaks free from you and your hips nearly leave the sofa as you arch them up in response. His relaxed exploration releasing wave after wave of pleasure that coils around you, lapping against your femininity like the turning of the tides.

Reaching down, you take his silken length in your trembling hand, stroking it up and down as you whisper against his lips, “I want you, inside of me.”

An elated grin breaks across his face and, feigning ignorance, he baits you, “I'm sorry, come again? I couldn't quite hear that.”

Bucking your hips up against his, you stare him level in the eyes and unflinchingly demand, “Fuck me, Viktor. Now.”

His pupils dilate, your words seeming to have a similar effect on him as a particularly potent batch of Euphoria Elixir. As he draws himself up to kneel between your legs, he leans back to grab a cushion, allowing you only a few precious moments to appreciate the way the golden light of his office highlights the sensual lines of his gorgeous body before he's sliding a toned arm beneath your hips, drawing them up to place the freshly procured pillow beneath them. He wraps his arms around your thighs and roughly pulls them up, stroking your calves as he brings them to rest up against his shoulders, eyes dancing at the quiet mewling noise coming from you in response to his playful manhandling.

The head of his hard knob presses against you, resting flush against your opening. A shudder runs through your body as he begins to gently rock his hips back and forth repeatedly, the tip of his rod just barely tottering in and out of your aching entry.

“I believe you said something about me fucking you?” he asks teasingly. “Do you still want that? For me to fuck you?” He accentuates the question with a faint thrust of the hips.

You moan hoarsely, drawing one of your hands up to manipulate an already tender nipple, nodding eagerly in reply.

“How badly?” he asks quietly as he draws one of your feet down by the ankle, pressing a soft kiss to your insole before slowly dragging his tongue up the inner arch of your foot before sliding it back over his shoulder. The carnal intimacy of the act leaves you panting and breathless.

“Please!” you cry out animalistically, unable to form a more coherent reply, colouring at the desperation that's clear in your voice.

Your plea seems to appease him and, taking mercy on you, he slides his hands along the top of your thighs, gripping the tender flesh tightly. Holding you in place, he provocatively shifts his hips back and forth a couple of times before finally slamming them forward, his sizable girth filling you. _Godric, how on earth can he feel so good?_ you wonder, as tenderly he begins making love to you, careful not to be too rough with you as your bodies adjust to one another.

Craving more of him, you tighten yourself around him, thrilled when his head rocks back and he begins pumping in and out of you at a more frantic pace. Letting your legs drop, Viktor’s eyes travel across your body hungrily, watching your breasts bounce with each thrust of his cock. Biting into his lower lip, he grunts at the erotic sight and looks down further. Your eyes follow the same path, until finally you're watching as he repeatedly draws his full length in and out of your body along to the beat of the forgotten album. Your combined groans fill his office, heightening in volume as you are both dragged closer to the edge of climax.

The pad of his thumb unexpectedly brushing against the swollen pearl between your thighs is your undoing and, letting go, you grind instinctively against him as pleasure courses through your body. Groaning, Viktor leans down, his body covering yours with hips thrusting frantically, muscles tensing as he himself is drawn towards the edge of desire. Running your fingers through his hair you lean up and kiss him before resting your forehead against his.

“Come for me?” you plead breathily.

His eyes widen briefly before squeezing shut tightly and, nodding, he wraps his arms securely around you with a strangled cry. Losing control, he slams his length roughly into you, filling your still spasming silk with the evidence of his desire. All of the tension drains from his body and, slowly withdrawing, he leans down to kiss your lips with incredible tenderness before finally collapsing on top of you.

  
  


Sometime later, you lay comfortably beneath your handsome new lover, softly stroking his onyx hair as his head lays cradled on your shoulder. He's even more tender and kind than you remembered—not to mention beyond beautiful—and a sadness fills you at the thought of sharing just this one night with the man currently resting atop you. You've always fancied him, but tonight has sparked something deeper beneath your breast and all you can think of is never losing the magic that's blossomed between you.

Summoning all of your Gryffindor courage, and before you can lose your nerve, you softly ask him the only question that comes to mind, “Can I stay with you for the weekend?”

Victor draws himself up, smiling down at you as he nods before leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “For the weekend,” his rich voice wraps itself around you in confirmation, before he continues sweetly, “Or, if you'd prefer, forever.”

Grinning, he wraps his arms protectively around you, mouth settling over yours in a tender embrace. And as the handsome wizard slowly begins to make love to you for the second time, there is only one thought that occupies your mind:

You should have known all along that Viktor Krum wasn't actually a Seeker. No, he couldn't possibly be anything but a Keeper.

  


_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_  



	27. Take a Look, It’s in a Book!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as a group collaboration of a handful of Potterotics, who bonded over their love of horny wizards and 90s references. You all are such wonderful people and I'm so grateful that you decided to join me in this kooky little idea! In addition to the co-creators listed above that have AO3 accounts, the following also pitched in on this fun little story: C Wren and Ulrike.

There is movement in the dormitory — someone else is getting up and headed after Peeves, with their own _Lumos’d_ wand at the ready.   _Finally a break! I am off this hook!_

 _“Nox”_ you intone, extinguishing your own wand. It won't take two to hunt down a nuisance like Peeves. As the curious investigator passes your bed, you cannot see past the _Lumos_ to get a clear look, but you see a wild mass of red hair from behind.   _Another Weasley?_  You briefly attempt to run through the clan roster before giving up. _More likely than not_ , you settle back down again. _“Umqua Vestio”_ you murmur, sending your scattered undapants back into your bag. You reach back towards your bag, almost put your wand away, but then reconsider and tuck it under your pillow; It's been an eventful night, you may need it again.  You close your eyes again and settle back into your bed for the night, hoping that Most-Likely-A-Weasley resolves the disturbance quietly.

 **Pit-pit-pit-pit-pit.**  Your eyes fly open again.  That sounded like footsteps.  Something small and quick.  You see a flash of movement a few beds away.  You remain still, observing before you rush into action.  You briefly picture Professor Flitwick, a twinkle in his eyes, on the search for some late night mischief.   _He must know a barrage of charms which would be useful..._ and then you stop yourself before developing that mental image.  Recovering from your momentary distraction, you scan the dormitory without moving in an attempt to locate the cause of the commotion.

"Why hello," a surprised voice calls out behind you.

_Dragonfire! How'd he...she...whoever get back there so quickly?_

"Dobby did not expect to have the pleasure!  Oh, and wearing the same thing when Dobby first had the honour!"

 _Wait, what?_  You think back to your disrobing spell - _wearing?_ You hear a brief scraping and realize the voice is several yards away.  Whoever that thrice cursed elf is addressing, it's not you.  Taking advantage of the noise he is making, you quickly flip over onto your left side to get a better look.  You squint — surely it cannot be. But it is!  Dobby!  THE Dobby, back on Hogwarts grounds.  A smile forms on your lips— _this is a reunion, after all_.  You try and look past him, to who Dobby is addressing.

“Dobby knows what this requires!”  The elf gestures with one hand.  The other is holding…  a book?  Candles from throughout the dormitory glide through the air, their wicks catching fire once they are within a few metres of the elf.  They settle into a semicircle on the ground, and haphazardly atop the chest with one drawer ajar.

“And next,” he continues, “Dobby shall…  Oh?”  He giggles, and his ears droop down over his eyes.  “Has Dobby been missed?  Minx!”

You struggle to make out another voice, but the only sounds are Dobby, the sizzle of candle flame touching liquid wax, and the steady breathing of sleeping alumni.  Dobby reaches, his tiny hand shaking and his ears folded back against his head, to the cover of the book.  He inhales, and flings the tome open.  You find yourself holding your breath along with Dobby.

“Ravishing!” Dobby proclaims as he pulls out a tattered sock from the book.

 _It cannot be!  THE sock?  It would have to be at least twenty years old!  How… Oh, right.  Magic._  Witches and Wizards have a wide range of flashy magic, but they can only scratch the surface of the domestic magic a house elf can effortlessly command.  You have yet to meet a human who can transmute juice into convincing butterbeer, much less extend a sock’s life for decades.

“Sock still looks as fetching as the day Sock (and Harry Potter) freed Dobby!”  He clutches the sock gingerly in one arm, the other gently stroking the leg of the sock.  Dobby gazes at the sock — you cannot tell if he does not have the words, or if words are not needed.  And then he buries his face into the sock.

 _Is… that…  snogging?_  And here you thought Flitwick sneaking around for mischief was the strangest thing you were going to witness this weekend. _Should I say something? Or look away?_

Dobby spins slowly, his free hand moving down the sock’s leg, and then grabs a fistful of gusset fabric.  You are still confused to what is going on.  But you are also happy to see the elf so fulfilled.  He has always been a peculiar one. Still conflicted, you cannot tear your attention away. You are happy, but also a little jealous. This sock is getting more attention than you have in months! Happy, jealous, and strangely hot, you realize, noticing a familiar warmth gathering.

 **Thud.** Dobby and Sock lose their balance, falling on the ground. The candlelight reflects off his eyes and he giggles and beholds Sock. Regaining focus, he resumes stroking the down the length of Sock’s leg, each round going further down, centimetre by centimetre, approaching the instep.

You feel a slight pressure below your navel and freeze. And just as suddenly, you realize it's your own hand. _Well, since they're putting on a show… but I shouldn’t… but maybe afterwards I can finally get some sleep!_ You begin rubbing yourself, matching the speed of Dobby’s strokes, and the moral dilemma seems less severe. You and Dobby move quickly at first, then slowing as Dobby traverses Sock’s length. You exhale sharply, a soft groan escaping your lips. Dobby does not seem to notice — his whole world consists of Dobby and Sock.

Dobby ceases his strokes, but you continue yours. He shifts slightly, crawling closer to Sock’s cuff. He traces a pair of fingers along the rim. He leans in, whispers something inaudible, and begins licking the cuff, making his way along the circumference. You stop rubbing yourself just long enough to bring your own fingers to your mouth. You feel the welcoming warmth and suck briefly. With this distraction, you don't dare try wandless AND silent magic — but you know more than one way to ‘cast’ _Lubris Salacii_. You bring your lubricated fingers back to where they are needed most. You bite your lip as you let the pleasure wash over you.

Dobby stops suddenly. You freeze.

“What? Did Dobby hear correctly?”

_Centaur Balls! I got sloppy._

“This will be Dobby's first time.”

_...Oh, so not me then? What did he hear?_

Dobby rolls onto his back, giving a full view of his hairless scalp. Emboldened, you resume rubbing yourself, pushing up with your hips and down with your hand, finding your rhythm. Dobby grasps the cuff of Sock in two hands, gently opening the hole. Giggling slightly, Dobby sticks his left foot into the air, and teases the cuff.

“Dobby has always wanted, but did not dare to dream!”

As your hand and hips continue their dance, you slide your other hand across your chest and circle one of your nipples. The sensation both contrasts and compliments the slick friction. These rushes of pleasure cannot take your attention away from the free elf any more than the little sounds you must be making cannot break the charm Sock has over Dobby. Dobby stops circling, hesitates a moment, and thrusts his left leg into sock, up to his knee. Dobby cries out, releases one hand from Sock and bites down onto his own arm, stifling, but not muting, the moan.

He pauses, not breathing. You also pause, not breathing. Both of you scan the room, which is still with only the sounds of candles and breathing. He slowly resumes, continuing to moan into his arm. You resume, one hand and hips thrusting together, the other hand now squeezing your nipples and enjoying the mix of pleasure and pain. Dobby begins thrusting his leg in and out of Sock, creeping slightly deeper with each cycle. One hand still grasping Sock’s cuff, knuckles turning white. His other hand grasping onto his ear and he continues to moan through his bitten arm. His pace quickens, thrusting his leg into Sock from his slim ankle, up his short, sexy leg, and to mid-thigh. Your pace matches his, grinding into your hand and pausing at the end of each stroke to bask in the pleasure.

Dobby slows, and takes his arm out of his mouth. “Are you close, Sockly Beloved?” He stops, gingerly withdrawing his leg. “Let Dobby give Sock this gift.”

You slow your grind, but do not stop entirely.   _What trick does he have in his smock next?_

Dobby wraps the toe of Sock around his ankle and leg, stretching Sock past his groin and along his body. He grabs Sock’s cuff, raises Sock high, and wraps Sock around his own neck, pulling it taught.

You cheer silently _, Dobby?! Get it!_

Holding Sock tight with his feet on one end and his hand on the other, he begins grinding against Sock. Resuming your pace between hip and hand, you raise your other hand to your mouth and suck on those fingers. For this private show — only for you — a special occasion is warranted. You drag your moistened fingers down your chest, across your stomach, and find your goal between your legs. Finding your joybox, you hesitate briefly at your entrance and then traverse inside. You push your fingers deeper, needy and exploring, l your other hand, moist and firm on your surface. You drink in the sight of Dobby and Sock, lost in the ecstasy of each other, unseen by everyone but yourself.

Dobby’s pace quickens, tightening Sock around his neck. You quicken your pace, matching your hip thrusts to his, enjoying the feel of your fingers both inside and out.

_Almost!_

Dobby quickens, and you hear his breath get ragged. He thrusts faster, and now you can't hear him breathing at all. His ears go pale and his scalp starts to turn blue. His mouth opens in a silent cry of bliss — he gives one, two, and then three intense thrusts — and releases his grip on Sock. The colour returns to his skin and he lets out a sharp exhale of breath.

 _KEDAVRA! I was so close!_ You slow your pace. You stop. You hold your breath, and your fingers leave your joybox, mildly shocked by the cool air. Your hips slow, slow, and stop. You exhale quietly, torn between the gratitude of what you have witnessed and frustration at not completing your own journey.

As Dobby lies in his afterglow, clutching Sock tight, a sharp smell invades your nostrils. Something pine, and vaguely antiseptic. Much like ambiguous comments from the Charms Professor and the house ghost’s quest for passion herbs, you refuse to contemplate the implications. You instead focus on the post coital spooning — Dobby and Sock, both perfectly content and wholly unaware of the lone witness. He wraps one arm around Sock, and strokes the cuff with the other.

“Sock makes Dobby feel complete. Sock makes Dobby feel free.”

You feel the emotional warmth of the scene as you enjoy the physical warmth of your arms draped across your belly and chest.

Suddenly, you hear movement from the direction of the common room. Dobby is likewise pulled from his reverence and sits upright. You hear a muffled voice and remember that probably-a-Weasley from earlier. “Bloody, wretched poltergeist…  last time I ever…” the responsible party grumbles, trailing off into incoherence as they move towards their bed.

Dobby looks around, squinting past the candles, still while clutching Sock to his chest. He scrambles in a three limbed crawl to the discarded book. “Sock and Dobby must away! Cannot be found!” Dobby bends down to kiss Sock one last time, stuffs Sock into the book, and darts off in the opposite direction.

Smiling to yourself, you settle back into the covers.   _Maybe counting undapants flying through the air will help you get to sleep._

  


_That was fun![Want to do it again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577180/chapters/33685536)_  



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